


I Ask No More

by Itzsyd123



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Slow Burn, Smut, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:14:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 67,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26554177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itzsyd123/pseuds/Itzsyd123
Summary: You thrive on routine. You wake up, run your book store, and come home.What happens when an unfamiliar face shows up and attempts to break that routine?
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Reader
Comments: 44
Kudos: 283





	1. Chapter 1

‘Why would you ever want to go to work at six in the morning on a Monday?’

People in your life have questioned your motives on more than one occasion. There’s always the assumption that nobody is really a morning person, and there’s nothing good about Mondays. 

However, there’s nothing you love more than the feeling of walking into your store just as sunlight breaks over the horizon. There’s comfort in turning on the coffee machine in the back of the shop, lining up the multi-colored mugs for customers to borrow while they browse. Rolling out the rug in the children’s corner brings a sense of joy you can’t explain. 

You spend each morning walking among the shelves, tracing your fingers over the spines of novels you’ve read over and over again. It sounds silly, and maybe a little lame, but these books feel like your friends. 

The bell chimes from the front door, signalling your first customer of the week. You turn to see a familiar face, one that’s always accompanied by an overwhelming sense of calm. 

“Good morning Molly! I just turned the coffee on about ten minutes ago, so it should be ready. Do you know what you’re looking for today, or do you still need to think about it?” You ask as you straighten the shelves of the non-fiction section.

Molly was one of your first customers. She visits your store every Monday in search of a new book. Lately she’s been in a rut, so she lets you run around to pick something out for her while she sips her coffee in the loft. Molly is a lawyer in D.C., and it seems like her only solace is the half-hour she spends in your bookstore on Mondays. For being a big-shot lawyer, she is the most peaceful soul you’ve ever met.

“I think I feel like some sort of thriller or drama. Last week’s dive into psychological case studies was great, but a little dense, so I need something fictional this week,” She replies as she pours herself a large mug. She quietly makes her way up the spiral staircase while you begin your hunt. 

Fifteen minutes later, you head upstairs with a book and her receipt in-hand. She lets you keep her credit card on file to make the process faster for the both of you.

“ _Room_ by Emma Donoghue. It’s one of my favorites,” You say proudly, sliding the book across the coffee table towards Molly. She picks it up and inspects the back, humming a noise of approval.

“[Y/n], every book is one of your favorites,” Molly quips. You roll your eyes at her as you head back downstairs to set up the front display table. Several minutes later, Molly leaves her mug on your counter before heading off to work.

“I expect a full five-page analysis in my hands by next Monday,” You call as she heads out the door. She shakes her head at you and gives a small wave before she turns to find her car. 

You turn your attention back to cleaning and organizing the front counter. The store is usually pretty quiet until lunch, and you work on your own a lot of the time. Nick comes in around three in the afternoon on weekdays, helping to cover the evening rush and closing the shop. Jesse and Beck work the weekends with you. You don’t bother paying yourself for the overtime you work. Instead, you sink that money into new books for the store and bonuses for your employees. You don’t mind all of the work. You’d rather be here than at home alone. 

You’re snapped out of your cleaning trance when the front door chimes around eight. It’s another regular, but nowhere as peaceful as Molly.

“Okay, school starts tomorrow. I need some new books for my classroom, and we need to talk about weekly reading time. Do you have anything on your schedule yet, or do I get to pick?” It feels like a whirlwind passes as your red-headed teacher friend bursts into your shop. She finds her way to the kids’ section, barely giving you a chance to keep up.

“Good morning, Ms. Monica Benson. Long time, no see. I don’t have anything on my schedule yet. I’m moving the reading group to Sunday afternoons, so weekdays are all yours,” You explain as you organize the books she’s handing you. “Wait, why does school start on a Tuesday?”

“I can’t explain why they pick starting dates the way they do. If I knew, I’d tell you. How about Wednesday mornings? Around ten? Then I can pack the kids up and be back at the school by lunch.”

“That sounds perfect to me. I’ll get you on the schedule,” You say as you turn to head back towards the counter. The bell chimes again as you begin ringing up the books for Monica. You don’t bother to look up as you rattle off your greeting, expecting it to be another one of your regulars. “Welcome to Between the Lines! Is there anything I can help you find?”

The voice that replies is unfamiliar. You snap your attention away from the register and mentally kick yourself for letting your customer service skills slip.

“I was wondering if you had any non-fiction books? Maybe about psychology or human emotion?” The man questions as he approaches the counter. He’s quite tall, but he still looks pretty young. He’s got a messenger bag slung over his shoulder. He must be a new student at one of the local universities. 

“Of course! They’re right over here,” You slip out from behind the register and make your way to the non-fiction section. Since you’re an independent bookstore, your selection isn’t huge. You’re proud of it anyways, valuing a hand-cultivated collection over numbers. You point out a few titles. “These are personal favorites, but they’re all pretty good. There’s coffee in the back, if you want some while you browse. Travel cups are in the drawer. Let me know if you need anything!”

You make your way back to the front to continue cashing Monica out. She’s a visual embodiment of everybody’s favorite teacher. She’s a little chaotic, but she’s also one of the sweetest and most patient people. She slides more than enough cash over to you, insisting that you keep the change. You keep a donation jar for the local animal shelter by the cash register, so you toss her change in there. You can’t have any animals in your current apartment, but you like to help out where you can. You pack up her purchases in a paper bag and add her to the weekly schedule before she rushes back out the door. 

Your newest customer makes his way towards you with three books in his hands. Two of them are ones you recommended. 

“Did you find everything you were looking for?” You ask as he sets his selections on the counter. 

“Yeah, I actually just came in here to browse. I pass this place on my way to work every day, so I figured I’d come in and check it out. You’ve got a great selection,” He compliments. You smile and nod as thanks.

“I’ve never seen you around here before. I kind of assumed you were a transfer student at one of the universities. What do you do for a living?” You question politely. You hear him laugh under his breath while you type at your computer. 

“I’m a profiler. I study human psychology and behavior,” He replies. He rocks back on his heels a little with his hands in his front pockets. He looks too nervous to be a professional adult.

“My apologies. You just look really young, so I assumed. That’s really cool, though. You probably read people like I read these books,” You joke. You tell him his total, and he slides you his credit card. 

“No worries, I get that a lot. To be fair, I am pretty young. Not many people graduate college as early as I did.” 

You glance at the name on his card while you run it through the system, and you wish you could melt into the floor.

Dr. Spencer Reid

You just insulted a doctor. 

You quickly pack up his books and pass his card back over to him.

“Well, here you go. That’s everything. Is there anything else I can help you with today?” You ask, trying to remain professional and regain any shred of credibility you can. 

“No, thank you. Have a good day,” He says with an awkward little wave. 

“Thank you, you as well. Come back soon, Dr. Reid,” You call as he exits the store. 

You watch through the front windows as he walks down the street. It’s not often that you get new people in the shop that live in the area. It’s even more infrequent to get new people that you hope will come back. 


	2. Chapter 2

You pull your jacket a little tighter around your body in an attempt to protect yourself from the brisk autumn wind. Leaves crunch under your boots as you turn the key in the lock, letting yourself into the shop. You hustle to the back to disarm the alarm system and turn on the coffee pot. You toss your bag behind the counter and flick on all of the lights, bringing the shop to life. 

You robotically complete your opening tasks to ready the shop for the day. Normally, you love your job. However, the shift in seasons and the chilly late-September air are not doing you any favors. You woke up this morning with a stuffy nose and a tickle in the back of your throat, both indicating the onset of a cold. Your body begins to ache as you roll out the rug in the children’s corner. Nick called in sick today, so you’re on your own for the whole day. 

You try to keep up a pleasant act as the day goes by. Ms. Norton, an elderly woman who was recently widowed, comes by to pick out a new true crime novel. She stops in at least once a month to pick out a new thriller, and she never fails to make you feel better. She offers you a couple cough drops as you cash her out, and you gladly accept them. 

A couple dozen customers pass through the store throughout the day. As the day goes on, your body begins to feel heavier and heavier. You keep a steady supply of tea behind the front counter. You hope if you drink enough, you can will this cold to stop in its tracks. 

You almost come unhinged around seven. You only have a couple hours until close, and you just want to go home. Your head feels like it’s going to explode, and you ran out of tea a few hours ago. You haven’t been able to take any breaks to eat because Nick isn’t here to cover you.

A middle aged woman comes barging through the front door, and you can immediately tell she’s going to be a handful.

“Where are your young adult novels?” The woman asks briskly. You guide her to the appropriate section while keeping your distance to prevent spreading whatever illness you might have. You excuse yourself as you cough into your elbow, leaving her so you can go wash your hands. She passes up and down the same aisle for almost a half-hour before coming to the front desk. She tosses the books down so hard it makes you jump.

“Did you find everything you were looking for ma’am?” You ask politely as you begin to scan the books she set down.

“Your selection is terrible, but I got what I needed,” She grumbles back. 

“I know our selection is pretty small. We’re an independent store, so we usually can’t keep up with the big retailers. Is there anything specific you were looking for? I can see about placing an order for you,” You offer.

“I said I was fine,” She snaps. You give a curt nod before telling her the total. She tosses a slip of paper across the counter at you. Taking a closer look, it appears to be a coupon for another book store.

“I’m sorry ma’am, we can’t accept this. This coupon is for another bookstore in the next town over,” You apologize as you slide it back towards her. She snatches it out from under your hand. You take a deep breath to calm yourself. 

Today is not the day for this. 

“What kind of business is this anyways? Let me speak to your manager,” The woman yells. You drop your friendly ‘service-with-a-smile’ act. She doesn’t deserve that anymore.

“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to lower your voice. I am the manager and owner of this store. I apologize that we can’t accept a coupon for another store. If you’d like to use it so badly, then I recommend that you go shop there instead,” You reply flatly. You don’t want to give her any more of your time. 

She looks surprised at your change in attitude. She must be used to getting what she wants when she throws a tantrum. She looks almost sheepish as she tosses her credit card on the counter. You process her transaction and package up her purchase. She snatches it from you in a huff before heading for the door.

“I can’t believe the poor service, and from the owner of all people. You can be sure that I’m never shopping here again,” She shouts as she exits the building.

“Oh no, I’m so sad,” You say sarcastically under your breath. You just about jump out of your skin when you hear a voice from the back of the store.

“Well that sounded fun.”

You rack your brain trying to place the voice. It sounds familiar, but it’s not one of your regulars. You make your way over to where the sound came from.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that. Is there anything I can help-” You cut yourself off when you find the source of the voice. “Oh, Dr. Reid. How are you? Can I help you find anything?”

“Hi [y/n], sorry if I startled you. You can just call me Spencer, by the way. I was just browsing the historical non-fiction section. You’ve got quite the array here,” He says, admiring the shelves. You must be visibly startled by his use of your name, because he makes a point to comment on it. “You’re wearing a name tag. I promise I’m not stalking you.”

“Oh. I guess I am. Anyways, I’m going to completely embarrass myself here, but I’m a little bit of a history nerd. I would have gone to college for it if I thought I could make any money with that sort of degree,” You admit. You straighten up the shelf a little bit. You can’t stand when the spines don’t line up. Your hand finds one of your more interesting books, and you pull it out to show him. “ _The Assassination Complex _is pretty good. It’s about the drone warfare program. It’s more than a little biased, but it’s a good read if you’re into that sort of thing.”__

____

____

“Have you read every book in this store?” Dr. Reid asks. He hasn’t taken his eyes off you since you started talking, and you shift uncomfortably under his gaze.

“Not every single one, but most of them. I won’t sell something that I don’t consider good. It’s one thing if they don’t fit my particular reading preference, but it’s another if they’re just poorly written,” You explain as you replace the book on the shelf. 

“So, no _Fifty Shades of Grey _?”__

____

____

“Absolutely not,” You scoff. “It’s been a few weeks since you were here last time. How were the books that you picked out? Have you had a chance to read them all yet?” You ask. He laughs before turning his attention back to the shelves. 

“Yeah, I actually got through them pretty quickly. They were all really good. Especially _Blindspot _. I like when a book makes you look at yourself differently,” He replies. You nod in agreement.__

____

____

“That book messed me up for a while. It made me much more critical of myself, which I appreciate,” You say. You jump as the bell chimes, signaling another customer. You give Dr. Reid an apologetic look, but he waves at you to go. 

You help the new customer find what they need. They’re a student nearby, and they needed a book for one of their classes. You manage to shuffle them in and out fairly efficiently. Dr. Reid appears between the aisles when the door shuts behind the student. 

“Did you not find anything you liked?” You ask when you notice his empty hands. He shrugs his shoulders.

“Nothing really caught my attention today. Any recommendations?” He approaches the counter and leans his elbows on it. You back up slightly, still trying to keep yourself from infecting others. 

“Oh, this is my favorite game! I have a regular who lets me pick a new book for her every week. Was there anything specific you wanted?” You stand from your stool, looking over his shoulder at the shelves behind him. 

“I tend to prefer non-fiction, but I’m open to some fictional options. I lean more towards historical fiction. Romance and young adult novels aren’t really my thing,” He explains. You bring your hand to your mouth, drumming your fingers against your lips as you think.

“I’ve got it. Give me one minute,” You say as you dash off towards the staircase. 

You fly up the stairs, finding the book you’re looking for in a matter of seconds. As you bound back down the stairs, your breath catches as you inhale and you collapse into a coughing fit. You toss the book on one of the many small tables scattered around the shop so you don’t contaminate it. You grip the railing to steady yourself, and you take a seat on one of the bottom steps until the episode passes. 

You take a few deep breaths when after you finish, testing yourself to make sure it’s really over. You pull yourself up from the stairs, and you spot Dr. Reid walking back towards you.

“Are you alright?” He asks. He looks genuinely worried for you, and you’re flattered.

“I’m okay. I’m just getting sick. I think it’s bronchitis. I get it every year, but it seems to be making an earlier appearance this time. I’m going to go wash my hands before I touch anything else,” You say. 

You brush past Dr. Reid, holding your hands up as if you were scrubbing in to a surgery. When you return, he’s moved the book to the front counter for you.

“I chose _The Baker’s Secret _by Stephen P. Kiernan. It’s historical fiction, World War II era. I always say that every book here is a favorite, but that one is really close to the top of my list,” You explain as you log into the cash register. You ring him up quickly, wrapping the book up and passing it back to him.__

__“Are you sure you don’t need someone to take you to an Urgent Care or something?” He questions while looking you over._ _

__“I’m on my own here tonight. The other person who was supposed to be closing with me called in sick, so I have to close the shop up myself. I’ve only got about an hour left. I think I’ll live,” You reply. He doesn’t look like he believes you, but he gives you a small smile and nod as he backs away from the counter._ _

__“Thank you for using your infinite book knowledge for me tonight. I’ll take notes and give my review next time I stop in,” Dr. Reid says as he backs towards the door._ _

__“It was my pleasure. Have a great night, Dr. Reid,” You wave good-bye to him._ _

__“It’s just Spencer,” He calls over his shoulder before the door swings shut behind him._ _

__You complete your closing duties, locking up the store before heading to your car. It’s not until you’re back at your apartment taking a hot shower when you realize what he said._ _

__He made a point to tell you that he’s planning on coming back._ _


	3. Chapter 3

You were correct in your assumption that you were getting bronchitis. After a week of feeling like death, you finally convince yourself to go to the doctor. You take another week off of work, per the doctor’s orders. After finishing your course of antibiotics, you immediately return to the shop. 

As the air continues to chill outside, more and more people find their way into your shop. 

Monica brings her fourth grade class to the shop every Wednesday. The two of you have put together a reading day once a week since you opened your shop. You pick out a book series to read to the kids each year. Whenever they don’t understand a word, they raise their hand. Monica cracks open her dictionary and explains what the word means and how it’s used. She keeps a list of new words, and the kids continue to use them in class throughout the year. You love her clever ideas for teaching, and you’re more than happy to have her in your store. 

By the middle of October, you finish the first book in the _Gregor the Overlander _series. It’s a bit mature for the kids to read on their own, but it’s a great teaching tool and a fun story. You wish these books were around when you were in grade school.__

__You also hold a reading group on Sunday afternoons for various age groups. You love to sit down on your reading rug and use different voices to pull the children into the stories. Nobody ever put in the effort to foster good reading habits when you were a child, so you try to do so for all of the children that come through your store. You used to want to be a teacher, but the idea of the structure and being forced to teach using strict methods put you off to it._ _

__On one Sunday near the end of October, you’re reading to a group of young children when a familiar face walks through the door. He immediately catches your eye and you see him smile before disappearing amongst the isles. You don’t let yourself get too distracted, lest you lose the attention of the dozen children sitting on the rug with you._ _

__When the reading group ends, you match each child up with their parent before doing a quick pass around the store. You search the shelves for Dr. Reid, but you can’t seem to find him. You think that he must have slipped out without you noticing, so you take your place back at the front counter with Jesse. You help her bag up a few purchases, mindlessly checking under the dust jackets of hardcover books to make sure they match._ _

__You’re startled back to reality when someone clears their throat in front of you._ _

__“Oh! Hi Dr. Reid! How are you today?” You ask as Jesse rings up his purchase. You see a non-fiction book about the history of the Mongolian empire and a cookbook for baking bread. You have to purse your lips to stop yourself from laughing at his selections._ _

__“I’m well, thank you. I just came to pick up some light reading material,” He gestures down towards the books in front of him._ _

__“I don’t see a written report of the last book like you promised,” You joke as you place the books in a bag._ _

__“Sorry, work’s been busy. I’ll get it to you next time,” He replies with a smile on his face._ _

__“Hey, isn’t it time for you to take your lunch,” Jesse says as she hands Dr. Reid his receipt and credit card. You have to stop yourself from smacking her in the arm. She knows you don’t get out much, and she’s always bugging you to make more friends._ _

__“I was just about to head to the café down the street. Do you want to join?” Dr. Reid chimes in. He sounds a little less sure of himself than he did moments ago when he was agreeing to write a book report._ _

__“I don’t know, the shop seems a little busy. I don’t want you to get overwhelmed if I leave,” You protest. You look over as the door chimes, and you’ve never been so mad to see the tall, surfer-boy figure of Beck walk through the door._ _

__There goes your only excuse._ _

__He clocks in at the register and looks over to you._ _

__“Hey, are we having a party up here? Why aren’t you on lunch yet?” He questions as he secures his nametag._ _

__“She was just leaving,” Jesse comments._ _

__You shake your head at the both of them as you grab your purse from under the counter. Dr. Reid opens the door for you, allowing you to pass through first. The two of you walk to the café a couple blocks over. You make small talk about the change in weather and beautiful scenery in the area while you order your food. You sling your purse over the back of your chair before you sit down._ _

__“You really shouldn’t do that, you know. It’s the easiest way for your things to get stolen,” Dr. Reid points out. You roll your eyes at him while you take a drink._ _

__“Most places don’t leave many other options. I’m absolutely not going to put it on the floor. Do you know how dirty these floors are?” You ask jokingly. It was meant to be a rhetorical question, and it looks like Dr. Reid has to stop himself from saying something. You tuck your purse behind your back in the chair to appease him, leaning your elbows on the table. “So what brings you to this side of town on this fine afternoon, Dr. Reid?”_ _

__“I told you, I needed to pick up some light reading material. Why won’t you call me Spencer?” He asks._ _

__“I don’t know. I think I just get stuck calling my regulars by however I first referred to them. It feels weird to change it after a while,” You reply._ _

__“Have I really come by enough to be considered a regular?”_ _

__“I would say you’ve got a bit of a pattern going, yes. But I can’t quite seem to pin down your schedule. A lot of my people come by on specific days of the week or around the same time of day. You’re all over the board,” You point out. You remove your elbows from the table, making room for the food the waiter has in his hands._ _

__“My work schedule is pretty unpredictable. I swing by when I can,” Dr. Reid explains. You take a bite of your sandwich, relishing the flavor. This is the first chance you’ve had to eat today._ _

__“I guess I assumed that you’re a psychologist or psychiatrist or something when you said you do behavior analysis stuff. Those jobs are usually pretty stable.”_ _

__“No, I’m not that kind of doctor. I work for the behavioral analysis unit over in Quantico,” He says. You pause your chewing for a moment to take in that information. You take a quick sip of your drink while you contemplate how to respond._ _

__“You work for the FBI? How old are you anyways?” You question, hoping it doesn’t come across as too rude._ _

__“I’m 27. I joined the team when I was 23. I’m the youngest in our department. Like I said before, most people don’t go through school as quickly as I did,” He responds._ _

__“And here I am, thinking I’m cool for working at a bookstore at 25 years old,” You joke. You take another bite of your food, desperately hoping you’re not offending him with your shock._ _

__“Hey, you’re a successful small business owner. That’s nothing to sneeze at,” He compliments. He doesn’t seem too put off by your commentary. “When did you open your store, anyways? I feel like it’s always been there.”_ _

__“I opened it about 4 years ago. I never went to college, so I saved all of the money I would have spent there and set up shop. I never really knew what I wanted to do with my life. I love books, and I like to talk to people about books, so it made sense. It’s been going well so far.”_ _

__“I’d say so. You seem to be doing well for yourself.”_ _

__“I’m not the richest woman in town, but I can afford my car, my apartment, and food. Enough about me. You said your work schedule is unpredictable. What do you do, exactly?” You try to change the subject and take the focus off of yourself._ _

__“My team flies around the country to solve murder cases. It’s pretty intense sometimes, but it keeps me on my toes. And the team is amazing. We’re like family,” He explains. You hear a small shift in his voice, but you’re not comfortable enough to push the subject._ _

__“It sounds like fun, sort of. I could never do something like that. I’m terrible at reading people,” You admit._ _

__“Well, you’ve got great customer service skills. You’re good at convincing people that you like them,” He states. You furrow your eyebrows at his comment._ _

__“I’m going to need you to elaborate on that.”_ _

__“That night with the lady and the coupon. You seemed friendly enough. It was so convincing, you almost had me fooled. The look on her face when you flipped the switch and turned on her tells me that you had her fooled too.”_ _

__“I do genuinely try to make friends with everybody that comes into the store. I love hearing about everybody’s lives. I just don’t have patience for rude people,” You reply. He nods at your answer. You crumple up your napkin, tossing it on your plate. “I better be getting back. I worry that Beck and Jesse will burn the place down if I leave them alone for too long.”_ _

__The both of you stand and take care of your trash before heading back out to the sidewalk. You turn to walk back to the shop. Dr. Reid looks like he’s going to follow you._ _

__“Does it make you upset that I don’t use your first name?” You ask as you start walking. He matches your pace._ _

__“It doesn’t upset me, per se. It just feels so formal. Also, everyone uses my official title and last name at work. I like to get a break from that where I can,” He explains. You hum a sound of acknowledgement at his response._ _

__When you arrive back at the store, you see Jesse and Beck tossing books to each other behind the counter and breathe a deep sigh. You love them, but they’re going to be the death of you._ _

__“Thank you for the company at lunch. I hope those two don’t cause you too much trouble,” Dr. Reid says, gesturing to the window. You let out a little laugh._ _

__“Oh, they absolutely will. Don’t forget, I still expect a review of the last book,” You reply pointedly._ _

__“Of course. I’ll get that to you as soon as I can.”_ _

__You turn back towards Dr. Reid as you pull open the door._ _

__“Don’t stay away for too long, Spencer.”_ _

__You walk into the shop, calling out for Jesse and Beck to knock off whatever they’re doing. You peek out the window as you store your purse under the counter. Spencer is starting to walk away, but you think you see a smile on his face._ _


	4. Chapter 4

Life continues on as normal, with brisk October air shifting to the dry cold of November. Spencer doesn’t visit for a few weeks, but you’re getting used to his inconsistency. You continue to help Monica with her class every week, and the Sunday reading group is flying through books. 

One night in early November, you’re stuck late doing inventory. The task itself would likely not be so bad if you had a consistent stock; since you individually source all of your books, you’re required to mark down the title and author of each book in your store. Once you’re about a quarter of the way through, you start to seriously consider hiring someone to do this once a month.

Whenever you’re alone in the store after dark, you always change the alarm system from ‘off’ to ‘monitoring’. You’re usually good at locking the door, but you use it as extra security in case you forget. 

As you work your way down the back wall, you hear the chime of the alarm go off along with the usual bell over the door. 

“Sorry, we’re closed. Let me walk you back out, and I’ll make sure to lock the door this time,” You call as you replace your current stack of books on the shelf. 

When you turn to face the confused customer, you’re met with the barrel of a gun. Your breath catches in your throat, but you do your best not to panic. You’re of no use to anybody if you freak out and get shot. 

“You’re going to walk nice and slow to your cash register, and you’re going to give me everything you’ve got,” A deep male voice grumbles from behind a ski mask. You raise your hands a little to show that you’re unarmed, and you turn to walk back towards the front.

All of the lights are still on, and it’s dark outside, so hopefully anybody passing by will see what’s happening and call for help. 

When you make it to the counter, you press both of your hands down flat. You don’t want to reach for your silent panic button immediately and set this guy off, so you try to appear as natural as possible.

“I need to log in to the computer for the register to open, okay?” You ask softly. You move your hand to the screen to type in your password. 

“Just hurry up. I don’t have all day here,” The man says. You hear a little panic behind his voice, and it eases your anxiety slightly. Hopefully he won’t shoot if this is his first time. 

You quickly type in your password, and you hear the drawer unlock. As you reach to open it, you jerk your hand against it like it’s stuck.

“Sorry, it does this sometimes. I just have to force it open,” You explain. While you pretend to wrench the drawer open, you reach under the desk with your other hand and hit the panic button. You never got a chance to test it out, so you pray that it still works. 

“Put everything in here,” The voice demands as he tosses a pillowcase over the counter at you. You nod and begin pulling money out of the register.

Hopefully your insurance policy covers this.

“We don’t keep much money in the store. There’s usually only like-” You stammer out as much as you can before you’re cut off. The man vaults himself over the counter and grabs you by the hair, pushing his gun into your temple.

“I said hurry up. If you can’t do that, then I’ll have to do it myself.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, letting some tears slip down your cheeks. Maybe you underestimated him. You continue placing money in the bag, but your hands shake at the feeling of the cold gun barrel against your neck.

Right as you close your eyes to take a steadying breath, the front door chimes open again.

“FBI. Drop the gun and let her go.”

You don’t open your eyes. That voice is all you need to hear, and you might lose it if you can see what’s happening around you. You let out a little squeak as the man presses the gun against you harder. You drop the bag when he hooks an arm around your throat, placing you in a choke hold. 

You hear sirens in the distance, but you’re too busy clawing at the man’s arm to feel any sort of relief. 

“If you want to walk out of here alive, you’ll let her go,” Spencer says calmly. You assume he has a gun pointed at the robber’s head. You still keep your eyes shut. You won’t be able to handle the sight of two guns pointed at you. 

The man responds by tightening his grip on your throat, and you’re losing your ability to struggle against him. The pressure on your windpipe is starting to get extremely uncomfortable as your airflow gets more restricted. Your head is getting a little fuzzy, and you’re worried he’s going to strangle you to death if he doesn’t shoot you first. 

The sirens are blaring right outside your shop. You hear yelling coming from the other side of the glass. You’re focusing all of your energy on getting enough oxygen in and out of your lungs. The man squeezes a little tighter when you try to wedge your fingers between his arm and your throat. 

“If you don’t let her go, we’re going to kill you. Do you really want to die over $300?” Spencer asks. 

“Either way, I’m not walking back out of here on my own,” You can feel the vibrations against your back as the man speaks. You scream as you feel the butt of his gun connect with your temple before a deafening shot rings out and glass shatters. You suck in a deep breath as the pressure is released from your throat, and you have to lean on the counter in front of you for support. 

You still can’t open your eyes, and you lay your head against the counter as sobs wrack through your body. You let out a scream and fly backwards when you feel a hand touch your shoulder.

“Hey, it’s just me. It’s okay. It’s over,” Spencer says from across the counter. You finally open your eyes to look at him. He’s got both of his hands up, and you can see a gun holstered on his belt. 

You look down to see yourself standing in a pool of blood. You’re instantly nauseous at the sight of the dead body at your feet. There’s blood spattered on the wall behind you, and the front window of your shop has been shot out. 

You’re really not sure if your insurance will cover that.

“Don’t look at that. Focus on me. We need to get you to an ambulance,” Spencer calls softly to you. You’ve got your hands folded over your chest, and you can’t will yourself to move.

“I’m fine,” You whisper. You’re suddenly very aware of the pain in your temple and the heat of the blood running down your face. Your chest tightens when you realize you’re wearing your favorite sweater today. 

Spencer makes his way around the counter and over to you, moving slowly with his hands still up. You hear police milling around outside, but you still can’t move your feet. You jump when you feel Spencer’s hands grab your shoulders, but you let him guide you out of the mess. 

As soon as you’re out of the building, three paramedics rush to you and force you onto a gurney. One places pressure over the wound on your head, and you grit your teeth from the pain. You grip the railing on the gurney until your knuckles turn white. You start to feel pinpricks of pain up and down your right arm. When you look down to inspect the damage, you see tiny shards of glass embedded in your skin from the window shattering. Your breathing starts to quicken again, and you can feel yourself beginning to panic. The paramedics rush to get you into the ambulance.

“Wait, let me go with her. She needs a familiar face right now,” You hear Spencer call from outside the ambulance. There’s another male voice arguing with him, but you can’t hear what they’re saying. After a couple of minutes, Spencer jumps into the back of the vehicle with you. 

“We’re going to remove some of the larger glass pieces while we’re on route, okay?” A female voice asks from behind you. You can’t bring yourself to speak, so you settle for nodding your head. 

When they pull the first piece, you tighten your grip on the bed railings to the point where a pain shoots up your wrist. Spencer must notice your increase in discomfort, because he begins to pry your fingers from the bar. He takes your hand in his own, and you’re thankful for the contact. You squeeze his hand every time they pull a piece of glass, and he squeezes back to let you know he’s still there. 

The ride to the hospital takes fifteen excruciating minutes. They won’t let up on the pressure on your head, and you want to scream. When they pull you into the emergency room, you’re greeted by a team of five nurses and doctors. You’re whisked into a trauma room, and the paramedics have to keep Spencer from following you. 

After they start an IV, you’re given some light pain medication. It’s not very strong, but it’s enough to make you sleepy. You have to get a couple stitches in your face, but overall it’s not too bad of an experience. The doctors pick out all of the tiny glass shards from your arm. None of them are very big, so you don’t need any additional stitches. 

When the doctors leave, the nurse comes in to tell you that you’ll be staying the night. They’re watching you for signs of a concussion, and you’re not allowed to fall asleep. Your phone and purse are still at the shop, so you’re left without anything to do. They won’t let you watch anything on the TV in case you do actually have a concussion. You stare at the ceiling for a while, counting the dots on the ceiling tiles.

You jump when the door suddenly opens. Spencer walks in, taking a seat in one of the chairs.

“How are you feeling?” He asks. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. 

“I’m okay. They gave me drugs that made me sleepy, but they won’t let me sleep, so there’s that,” You reply. It takes a lot of focus for you to not let your eyes fall closed. “Why were you there?”

“Sometimes when I pass by your shop on my way home I notice the lights on, even if it’s late. My team just got back from a case, and it’s been a while since I’ve visited, so I figured I’d swing by. I’m glad I did,” He answers. 

“I’m glad you did too. Did you happen to see if my phone was still there? I need to call Nick and tell him not to come in tomorrow,” You say, rolling on to your side. You pull your knees up to your chest, curling into a little ball. 

“I’ll make sure it gets handled, don’t worry.”

You nod at him, and another wave of exhaustion passes over you. You can’t help but let your eyes close. You’re not sure how long you’re asleep before a nurse shakes you awake. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from snapping at her, since she’s just doing her job. Spencer is still in the chair next to you, scrolling through his phone. 

“You don’t have to stay with me, you know,” You say quietly. 

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to. I’m not leaving you here without a way to contact anybody,” He explains. You sigh deeply at the heavy feeling in your body from the medication. 

“It’s going to be a long night.”


	5. Chapter 5

Once you’re deemed concussion-free, you’re released back into the world of the living. Spencer calls a cab and takes you to your shop so you can grab your phone and purse. Someone was nice enough to board up the window overnight so none of your books got damaged. 

A metallic scent greets you as you enter the store. You look over to the counter, where you stood the night before, and you can see some blood stains seeping out from behind the register. You close your eyes and take a deep breath before heading over, but a hand on your shoulder stops you.

“Let me get it. You’ve had enough trauma for one day,” Spencer says. You direct him to where your purse is stashed. 

You walk to the back of the shop and find your phone among the items you sprawled across the floor for inventory. There are several dozen texts and missed phone calls from various people. You begin typing out replies, reassuring your friends and family that you’re okay. You send a long message to your mother. She’s the culprit for the majority of the voicemails. You always call her once you get home from a late night at the store to let her know you’re okay. 

“Are you ready to go?” You jump as Spencer sneaks up behind you. 

“I think I’m going to stick around for a little while. I need to call my insurance to start working on that. And I should probably get a cleaning company out here sooner rather than later,” You reply. You start typing a list on your phone of all of the things you need to do. You whine when Spencer’s hand covers your phone, forcing you to stop.

“That can all wait until after you go home and take a nap. You haven’t slept yet, and it’s no good for anybody if you’re over-tired,” He says. You know he’s right, but this shop is your life. You can’t let it sit in such a state of disarray for very long. 

“Fine, but I’m coming back tonight to keep working on inventory. I didn’t get very far last night,” You respond. There’s more whine behind your voice than you intended, further proving Spencer’s point that you need to sleep. You grab your purse from his hand and sling it over your shoulder.

“You really shouldn’t drive right now,” He says as you walk towards the exit. He’s got a hand hovering near your lower back to keep you from straying. 

“I’m not calling a cab to take me home, because then I’ll need to call a cab to bring me back here tonight. I don’t live very far, I can drive,” You protest. Spencer steps in front of you when you reach the door, preventing you from leaving. 

“Let me rephrase. I’m not letting you drive right now. Driving when you haven’t slept is equivalent to driving drunk. Give me your keys and I’ll drive you home. I can call a cab for myself from there,” He replies. From the little you know about him, you get the feeling that he’s not going to let this go. 

You begrudgingly dig your keys out of your bag and hand them over. He locks the door behind you, and you guide him to your car. You give him directions to your apartment building as you lean your head against the window. You have to fight to keep your eyes open. It’s probably for the best that you’re not the one driving. 

When you arrive at your apartment building, you insist on waiting with Spencer until his ride arrives. He ends up calling one of his coworkers to come pick him up instead of paying for a cab. You wave at the older Italian-looking gentleman, calling a good-bye to Spencer as they drive away.

The second you step through your apartment door, your body feels like it can’t hold itself up any longer. You were planning on showering first, but your feet lead you to your bed instead. You don’t bother changing your clothes before sleep washes over you, easing your aches and resetting your brain. 

The sun is beginning to set by the time you wake up. You pull yourself out of bed, and you don’t feel quite as bad as you expected to. You strip out of your ruined sweater and jump in the shower. It takes a solid hour to get yourself completely clean. You pull on a pair of tights and your snuggliest sweater dress when you get out. You loosely braid your hair, pulling on some pieces to make it more relaxed. You realize that you don’t have any food in the apartment right now, so you pull on some knee-high socks, boots, and a scarf before heading back out the door.

You stop to get some Chinese food on your way to the shop. You feel a sadness settle back over you as you take in the sight of your store. The metallic scent has dissipated, but it still looks like the crime scene that it became last night. You head up to the loft, pulling your laptop out of your bag and setting up a little work station. You’re about half-way through your insurance paperwork when you hear a knock at the door. 

You peek over the edge of the loft railing, trying your best to stay hidden, and you see a familiar face on the other side of the glass. You hustle down the staircase to unlock the door.

“What are you doing here?” You question as Spencer pushes past you and into the shop. 

“You said earlier that you would be back here to finish inventory, so I figured I’d stop by to help,” He replies as he sets a large paper bag down on the counter. 

“Why do I feel like I won’t be able to convince you that you don’t have to do that?” You ask. 

“Because you’re better at reading people than you think,” He answers. You watch as he pulls a plastic container out of the bag. Inside, there are six cupcakes of various flavors. 

“I’ve got my computer and my dinner upstairs, if you’d like to join. I would have grabbed something for you if I had known you were coming,” You apologize as you make your way up the spiral staircase. He follows you, cupcakes in-hand. “I hope you know that I’m going to put you to work if you hang around.”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

You hand him your tablet, explaining your process on how you take inventory.

“Just go around and mark off all of the books that you find. They should all be in order. If there is one missing, highlight it in red. If there’s one that is out of order, note the title, author, and location here, and I can go back and find its place later. Got it?” You ask. He nods and begins working through the shelves around your reading nook. 

You continue working on your insurance paperwork. It’s looking like they’ll pay for all of the damages, plus a little extra compensation. You’re able to set up an appointment for a cleaning company to come out and fix things up by the end of the week. You also place an order for a new window. You splurge a little on a beautiful piece with custom etching.

After about an hour, you finally get up to stretch and join Spencer. He’s made impressive progress. 

“Maybe I should hire you to come out and do this once a month. It always takes me so long,” You say. He laughs at your comment, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the shelf.

‘I’m a quick reader’ is his only explanation. 

You run downstairs to grab a tablet from the front desk. You avoid looking at the floor, taking comfort in knowing the damage will all be gone in a matter of days. You pick up where you left off last night, working along the back wall of the shop. Spencer joins you fairly quickly, having finished upstairs. The two of you are able to finish inventory in a couple of hours. You shut the tablets off and save the task of reorganizing for another day. 

You flop back in your chair in the loft. You didn’t realize how tired you still are until you sat down. Spencer opens the plastic container and pushes it towards you on the table between your chairs. You grab a chocolate cupcake with peanut butter frosting. 

“Thank you for the help. I probably would have been here until midnight if it weren’t for you,” You thank him before you take a bite of your cupcake. You make a mental note that he chooses red velvet. You eat your celebratory cupcakes in silence. Your mind is still racing about how long it’s going to be until you can open the shop again. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Spences asks once he finishes. You sit up straight in your chair, fixing your notoriously horrible posture. You toss the cupcake wrapper back on the table.

“I’m fine. I just wish I could open the shop tomorrow. My life feels empty when I’m not here,” You explain. 

“Don’t you have friends to hang out with? I’m sure there’s something you could do to fill your time,” He replies. 

“Not really. Nick, Jesse, and Beck are my friends, but they’re also just my employees. I’m not from around here, and I never took the time to really make connections before I opened the store. My regulars are my friends, but I’d never ask them to hang out outside of the shop,” You admit. When you moved here, you kept your head down while you opened your store. You didn’t have the time to stop and socialize. You never made an effort to slow down and build relationships back into your life when you had the chance. 

“Well, I feel like you can call me your friend now. My job might not let me hang around all of the time, but I’ll be here when I can.”

“I feel like I don’t know enough about you to really call you my friend,” You point out. When you sit down to think, the two of you don’t actually know much about each other at all. 

“What do you want to know?”

“Where did you grow up?” You ask. He pauses for a moment before replying. 

“Las Vegas. You?”

“Traverse City, Michigan. The land of wineries and bitter cold lake-effect. Believe it or not, it’s much warmer here than it is there,” You answer. 

“Why did you choose to come here?” Spencer questions. 

“I wanted away from my old life. I love the small town atmosphere, and I actually like cold weather, so this place seemed fitting. Also, the cost of living is pretty reasonable right here. And yourself?”

“I was basically hand-picked for my job at the FBI, so I didn’t really get much of a choice,” He replies bluntly. You nod at his honesty. 

“If you could live anywhere, where would you go?” 

He takes a moment to think. 

“Probably somewhere quiet but not too far from a city. I’d need access to a job where I can work my brain. I love the New England area, but the Pacific Northwest is a close second. You?”

You take a drink from your water bottle while you ponder your answer.

“I like it here, and I’d be happy staying here for the rest of my life. If I had to choose, I’d move to Quebec City in Canada. I went there on a trip once, and it has the most magical, romantic atmosphere. It’s got cobblestone streets and little shops right up against modern skyscrapers and crowded sidewalks. It’s the best of both worlds,” You say. You turn your face and pretend to inspect the shelf next to you so he can’t see your face flush with embarrassment over your rambling. 

“I’ll have to visit one day. Now, I have the most important question,” Spencer says seriously. You lean forward in your chair, raising your eyebrows at him. “What’s your all-time favorite book?”

“That’s not a fair question. It’s like asking a parent who their favorite child is,” You scoff.

“If you dig deep enough, every parent has a true favorite,” He replies. 

“Are we talking novels, or are plays and poetry fair game?” You ask for clarification.

“You can choose one work of prose and one other medium. I’ll be timing how long it takes for you to get back here with your answers,” He jokes as he sets the stopwatch on his phone. 

You fly out of your chair, immediately finding what you’re looking for. You’re back in your seat in less than two minutes. 

“ _ The Bell Jar  _ by Sylvia Plath. She may be extremely problematic, but I’ve read this book more times than I can count,” You say with a huff, out of breath from running up and down the stairs. Spencer picks up your personal copy of the book, turning it over in his hands. You’ve got a 50th anniversary edition, and you admire the matte black cover with metallic pink embossing. It’s one of the books that you’ll always cherish. “It’s not my favorite work of literature, though. I only grabbed it because you made me pick a novel.”

“What could possibly beat the work of the great Sylvia Plath?” Spencer questions. You produce a small book with a flourish. You slide the black and purple book across the table for him to examine.

“ _ No Exit _ by Jean Paul Sartre. My personal favorite literary work.”

Spencer raises his eyebrows at you, but you simply raise yours in return. You sit back in your chair, crossing one leg over the other while waiting for his response. 

“I think we need to get you to a therapist,” Spencer jokes. 

“Have you ever read it? Or seen it performed live?” You question. 

“I can’t say that I have, but I’m familiar with his work. You don’t strike me as someone who would care for existential nihilism.”

“Like I said, there’s a lot of things you don’t know about me,” You reply. 

You jump as Spencer’s phone rings, dropping the mysterious act you’ve put on. He sounds frustrated at whoever is on the other end of the call. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose when he hangs up.

“We’ve got a case. I’ve got to go. I’m sorry to leave in such a rush,” He explains as he packs his things. 

“No worries. It’s important for you to go and stop people from killing other people,” You try to joke. It doesn’t seem to land. 

“Are you okay here by yourself?” He asks.

“I’ll be fine. I’m going to pack things up and I won’t be far behind you,” You answer. He pauses to look you over. “Go. I’m okay.”

He nods before rushing down the stairs and out the door. You work on cleaning up your mess from dinner and dessert. When you move the cupcake container, you notice a small slip of paper caught underneath. Examining it, you realize that there’s a phone number written on it. A blush creeps over your cheeks at the thought of Spencer intentionally leaving his phone number for you to find. 

You fold the slip of paper and tuck it in the back of  _ The Bell Jar _ . You’re not even sure if it’s his phone number. If it was, he probably would have told you, you reason with yourself.

But maybe he left it there for you to find. 

You finish packing your things, but you notice something very important is missing. He took your copy of  _ No Exit _ . Either he took it mistakenly, or he’s really trying to learn more about you. 

Either way, you’re going to have to hunt him down and get it back at some point. 


	6. Chapter 6

Your least favorite activity is handing the shop keys over to Beck to use while you’re gone. He may be the youngest of the bunch, but he’s the most responsible and trustworthy by far. 

You roll your suitcase over the threshold of the shop early in the morning the Monday before Thanksgiving. You’re flying home to see your family, so you’re getting things set up to run smoothly while you’re gone. 

You complete your opening tasks, flicking on the ‘open’ sign by the front door. Shortly after, Molly marches through the door and straight to the coffee bar. You meet her there with a small stack of books in-hand.

“Morning, Molly! Any ideas about what you want today?” You chirp. She takes a deep breath while she stirs her coffee. 

“I don’t know if I’m feeling like reading this week. Work’s been exhausting, and I have to drive home tomorrow. Is it okay if I just hang around for the coffee?” She asks. You notice that she’s not in her usual pantsuit or pencil skirt. Instead, she’s got on leggings and an oversized sweater. She must have the week off of work.

“Of course! You’re always welcome here! Why are you so worried about going home?” You question while you make your own travel cup of coffee. 

“It’s going to be my first time back since Link and I broke up. Obviously I told my parents and siblings, but I don’t want to deal with the rest of my family,” She groans. You grimace sympathetically. She and Link had been together since before you opened up your shop. They just broke up last month, and Molly took it pretty hard. You helped the best way you knew how, alternating her book choices between graphic murder novels and sad young adult romance. 

“Ew, that sucks. If you need a place to escape to, you’re always welcome up in good ol’ TC. Some of the wineries are still open,” You offer. She just laughs as she tip-toes up the stairs. You leave her to her coffee before finishing your morning duties. 

As you finish your list of important information for Beck, the party in question walks through the door. He always looks miserable so early in the morning, but you know he loves being in charge. You go through the list with him, making sure he doesn’t have any questions. 

“Are you sure you guys will be okay? It shouldn’t be too busy this week, hopefully,” You comment as you double check the cash drawer. Some may call you a control freak, but you just like to make sure that your employees are set up for success.

“We’ll be fine. We always are. Besides, it’s not like we have to deal with the Black Friday crowds anyways,” He replies. You are always closed on Black Friday. You don’t like subjecting your employees to the chaos, and you’re not in this business for the money anyways. You’d rather stay closed and let them have more time with their families. 

“I know, I know. Molly is upstairs. I think she’s hiding from her life, so please check on her if she doesn’t come down within the hour. Also, I got you guys these,” You pull a box with a dozen doughnuts from under the counter. “Leave some for Jesse and Nick. Molly can have some too, if she wants. Be good. Please don’t burn the house down.”

You take your leave, loading your suitcase into the back of the taxi. It’s a long ride to the airport, but luckily the security line isn’t too long. You’ve learned to fly a few days before big holidays rather than waiting until the last second. It makes the actual travel day so much more bearable. It always surprises you how much cheaper and faster it is to fly from DC straight to the airport in Traverse City. You have a habit of checking for flights into Detroit and Grand Rapids, but it’s exponentially easier to not have to drive half-way across the state when you land. 

Your mother greets you at the airport, ushering you into the back seat of her van. Your step-father is waiting in the passenger seat, and you greet each other cordially as you buckle your seatbelt. For the entire drive to your parents’ house, your mother rambles on about life in the city. Apparently, the Nortons got a divorce because Mr. Norton was driving into Canada to have an affair. The local high school is putting on The Addams Family as the musical in the spring, and the parents are up in arms. You make small noises of acknowledgement as she chatters to you. You’re not really paying attention, but you know she loves your company.

You’re surprised to see both of your siblings waiting when you arrive. They both bound down the front steps, your older brother picking you up and spinning you around when you hop out of the van. Your baby sister grabs you by the hand and drags you towards the house, and your brother grabs your bag for you. 

You try to ignore the heavy feeling in your heart. You know everyone is excited to see you, and you don’t visit home nearly as often as you should. You typically only come around once during the holiday season, usually towards Thanksgiving. You claim that the weather is too dangerous for travelling later in the wintertime, but that excuse doesn’t hold up for most of the rest of the year. 

Truthfully, you just can’t stand to be in your childhood home for more than a couple days at a time. 

Your little sister, Sylvie, pulls you to the kitchen. You already smell the baked goods she has in the oven. She’s been off at some baking school, and you can see the improvement in her skill when you look around the kitchen. If nothing else, they’ve at least taught her how to clean as she goes. When you were younger, the two of you used to talk about opening a joint shop with her bakery on one side and your book store on the other. You had a huge fight before you left for DC because she didn’t want to leave home but you did. You’ve spent the last few years picking up the pieces of the relationship you shattered, but she seems to appreciate your presence this year. 

You reach to grab one of the freshly baked chocolate chip cookies off of the cooling rack, but Sylvie smacks it out of your hand.

“Uh-uh, those are for later. The Maitlins are coming over for dinner, and I made those for dessert,” She chides. Your stomach drops at the name. 

“All of them?” You clarify. Sylvie nods at you before turning her attention to the few dishes in the sink. 

Before you get too upset, your older brother Ethan sneaks up behind you, dropping a package on the counter. It causes you to jump, and you have to bite your tongue to keep from swearing at him. He gestures for you to unwrap it. You hold your breath when you see what’s inside. 

There are a dozen special edition books, all leather-bound with gold embossing on the cover.

You turn to Ethan with tears in your eyes. He knows you better than anybody.

“Where did you find these?” You whisper as you pull them out one-by-one. You run your fingers over the soft leather covers, admiring the artwork. You gasp when you get to the bottom. There’s a copy of _The Bell Jar _. It’s bound in black leather with metallic rose gold text to match your special edition back home. You look back to your brother, wide-eyed. He laughs at your amazement.__

__“I found a guy up north that does book binding. You’ve missed Christmas for the past couple years, so I thought I’d make it up to you,” He explains. You gently replace the books in the box and throw your arms around him._ _

__“They’re amazing. Thank you so much,” You mumble into his shoulder._ _

__“There’s no need for tears in my kitchen. Go get cleaned up. The Maitlins will be here around four,” Your mother calls from behind you. You wipe the tears from your face and grab the box, making your way upstairs towards your old bedroom._ _

__It’s exactly how you left it. The same dark green and grey comforter covers your bed. You notice a distinct lack of dust over your empty bookshelf and dresser. You know your mother has been in here cleaning at least once a week._ _

__You shake the thought of her loneliness from your head and grab your shower things. Once you scrub yourself clean from the airport germs, you blowdry your hair and debate how dressed-up you want to get. You sigh as you come to the realization that your mother is going to expect nothing less than perfection from you._ _

__You curl your hair and shake out the tight ringlets, giving it a softer look. You pull some of the front pieces back. You can’t stand having your hair getting in your face. You tug on some chunks, softening the look to frame your face. You only put on some light makeup. No matter how important your mother thinks this dinner is, nobody can convince you to spend an hour on makeup. You apply a thin strip of eyeliner and some blush across your cheeks and nose. You debate on bright lipstick but ultimately decide against it since you’ll be eating and talking all night._ _

__You shrug on a midi-length maroon dress with buttons up the front. It has half-sleeves and a peter-pan collar. You button it all the way up the neck, keeping yourself modest. It cinches in at the waist, giving you a little shape, but you still look entirely respectable. You adjust the sleeves so they’re not twisted, admiring the tiny black cat faces that are printed all over the dress. You slip on a pair of black suede heels that have a strap around your ankle, making you a solid four inches taller._ _

__In a moment of panic, you tie your hair up in a high ponytail, suddenly hating the way your hair was draping over your shoulders. You hear a soft knock on the bathroom door, and Sylvie speaks from the other side._ _

__“The Maitlins are going to be here soon. Mom needs your help putting together the cheese board,” She calls softly._ _

__You open the door and face your little sister. She’s changed into a beautiful navy blue velvet wrap dress. You hate that she grew up and you weren’t here to see it. She beams up at you before grabbing your arm and leading you back downstairs._ _

__You assist your mother with the cheese platter, delicately arranging the variety of meats and crackers your step-father picked up at the store. You barely have time to take a sip of your wine before you hear a knock at the front door. You had really hoped to have a whole glass under your belt before they arrived._ _

__Mr. and Mrs. Maitlin glide into the dining room. Mrs. Maitlin holds her hands out towards your mother, bringing her into a hug. Mr. Maitlin pats your step-father on the shoulder, greeting him in a way only dads do. Heather Maitlin follows shortly behind, and she’s just as stunning as the last time you saw her. She’s in a velvet dress much like your sister’s, but hers is a beautiful peach color. It compliments her blonde hair and blue eyes wonderfully, and you can’t help but be a little jealous._ _

__You avert your eyes as the final member of the Maitlin family enters the room. You were already anxious going into this, but the room feels suffocating when you sense his presence._ _

__“Hey, I didn’t know you’d be here,” The hairs on the back of your neck prickle when you hear his voice. You jump at the feeling of his hand on your lower back, and you nearly tip your glass over. You let out a delicate laugh and take a sip of your wine, deciding that tonight will be easier if you play the part your mother wants you to._ _

__“Hey, Vince! It’s been such a long time. How have things been going out at USC?” You ask. You want to keep the focus on him as long as possible. He likes to talk about himself, so it shouldn’t be difficult._ _

__“Everything’s going really well. I’m just about finished with my master’s program. I’ve been offered a position in South Carolina managing a handful of resorts,” He announces. Your mother ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ at his accomplishments. You simply make a noise of fake admiration before taking another drink of your wine. You’re suddenly glad your mother decided to overstock the wine fridge for the week. “What about you? Your mom told me you’re out in DC now?”_ _

__“I’m just south of there, yeah. I own a bookstore, and I’d say things are going alright,” You say. You wish you could say that you’ve been offered a position making six figures a year._ _

__“That’s exciting,” He claims. You hate that he sounds so genuinely happy for you. “Hold up. What happened to you?”_ _

__He grabs your chin lightly, turning your face so your cheekbone catches the light. The scar from the robbery is still bright pink. You mentally slap yourself on the wrist for not thinking about covering it up. It’s a wonder nobody else has pointed it out. You never told your mother the entire situation. You just explained that you hurt yourself at the store, which is why you were in the hospital and not responding to her calls._ _

__“Oh, it’s nothing! I just had a little accident at the store. I had to have a couple stitches, but it was only a minor injury. I’m still just as clumsy as I used to be,” You joke. Your brother gives you a look over Vince’s shoulder, clearly not buying your story. You stare him down, daring him to call you out on it. He must have decided it’s safer to drop the subject, opting to pour himself another glass of wine and grab some crackers from the platter._ _

__Soon enough, Ethan comes to save you from Vince. You work quietly to help set the table. You pour everyone a fresh glass of wine when the meal is served. You’re not a huge fan of alcohol, but you can’t deny the difference in quality when you’re home as opposed to purchasing it from a grocery store in the city._ _

__Dinner goes smoothly, everyone chiming in with small stories about their coworkers and recent vacations. You stay quiet and listen to them. Your life seems so boring compared to everyone else’s._ _

__Sylvie throws you under the bus as she passes dessert around._ _

__“You’ve been pretty quiet over there, [y/n]. Anything, or anybody, special happening back in DC?” She questions, wiggling her eyebrows at you. You shoot daggers in her direction. She’s lucky that looks can’t kill._ _

__“Nope,” You respond, popping the ‘p’. “Everything’s quiet on the homefront. I got to do some renovations on the shop. That’s the most exciting thing that’s happened over the past year.”_ _

__“Oh, there must be somebody new in your life,” Your mother pushes. She just about had a heart attack when you told her that you broke up with Vince before moving away. She had your wedding planned since you were a child._ _

__“Not really. Just the same old regulars that come through my store,” You say, catching her eye with a solid stare in an attempt for her to let it go._ _

__“Well it sounds like you and Vince won’t be too far apart once he starts his job in Myrtle Beach. You could visit each other,” She exclaims. You give up on responding to her, instead picking at your cookie and trying not to down your wine too fast._ _

__Sylvie rescues you just as quickly as she threw you to the sharks, changing the topic to her latest baking experiments. You busy yourself by removing everyone’s plates and cleaning up after dinner._ _

__As the evening winds down, you excuse yourself to your bedroom. You claim that you’re tired from travelling, but you honestly can’t stand to be around so many people for much longer. You strip yourself out of your dress, replacing it with sweatpants and a hoodie. You lock your door and pull the covers up to your chin._ _

__You hear a soft knock at your door and the jiggle of the doorknob. You locked it when you came in. You hear Sylvie’s feet pad down the hallway softly. Your heart hurts shutting her out like that, but being back around your family has dredged up feelings you’ve worked hard to block out._ _


	7. Chapter 7

You manage to slip out of the house undetected, but not before slipping on two pairs of leggings, fuzzy socks, and a long sleeve shirt under your coat. You pull a hat and scarf from your pocket once outside. You hop in Sylvie’s car, thankful that she keeps her keys in the same place she used to when you were teenagers. 

It’s a short ride to your favorite coffee shop. You grab a spiced hot apple cider, not wanting to mix the caffeine from coffee with the anxiety still coursing through your veins. You get your drink to-go, making your way to one of the many hotels situated on Front St. You wave through the front window, alerting your old friend Kelly to your presence. She waves back, giving you the thumbs-up to head to the beach. You pass under the archway, wrinkling your nose at the bitterly cold air that hits your face. 

You plop down in the sand, taking in the sight of the angry bay before you. The sky is grey, but at least it’s not raining. The water is choppy enough that no boats will be brave enough to head out today. You sit in silence, admiring the power and beauty of the lake. 

You’re startled out of your trance when your phone rings. It’s an unknown number, but you answer anyways in case something happened with the store.

“Hello?” You answer. 

“Hi,” You nearly choke on your drink when you hear Spencer’s voice on the other end. 

“How did you get- Did Jesse give you my number?” You ask. You dig a little hole in the sand for your drink. You wrap your now-free hand around your knees as you bring them to your chest, trying to preserve your body heat. 

“I stopped by your store this morning to return your copy of _No Exit _-” He starts.__

__“So you did steal it,” You joke._ _

__“I may have borrowed it. How could I not after hearing your glowing review? Anyways, I wanted to give it back. I was a little surprised that you weren’t there,” He explains._ _

__“I’m home visiting my family for the holiday,” You state. Your voice is a little scratchy from breathing in the cold, humid air._ _

__“You don’t sound very happy about that,” He points out. You let out a quiet, rueful laugh._ _

__“It’s complicated. I’ll be home by Saturday morning. Thanks for dropping the book off, though. I didn’t want to have to hunt you down,” You say._ _

__“Oh, you’ll still need to hunt me down. I wasn’t going to leave something so valuable with just anybody. I’m going to Vegas for a few days, but I’ll be back this weekend. We should meet up and I can return it to its rightful owner.”_ _

__You feel your face warm. You’re not sure if it’s from the implications of his statement, or if you’re just starting to get windburn._ _

__“It’s a date,” You respond before quickly ending the call. The small fluttering in your chest was threatening to take over, and you’re not one to let yourself be too emotionally vulnerable. You save his number in your phone, and you notice it matches the one written on the slip of paper you found._ _

__You continue sipping on your drink, thinking about the fact that you haven’t been nervous to talk to a boy since you were a pre-teen. You started dating Vince at the ripe age of 13, just before the start of your freshman year of high school. He was the only person you’ve ever dated. You broke it off right before moving to DC. He left for college in California right out of high school, but you tried to make long distance work. After hearing the voices of multiple girls off-camera while FaceTime-ing, you couldn’t take it anymore. You’re not sure if he ever actually cheated, but you knew that he wouldn’t have any issues finding someone to replace you. It was easier for both of you to just end it._ _

__You hear someone sit in the sand next to you, and you look over to see Ethan. He’s got an amused look on his face._ _

__“What?” You question, not giving into his games._ _

__“Who was that?” He asks in return._ _

__“Just one of the regulars from the store,” You reply. You turn your face so he can’t see the blush forming on your cheeks. Even if he can, you can just blame it on the almost-freezing temperatures._ _

__“Last time I checked, most people don’t save regular customers’ phone numbers in their cellphones,” He points out. You shake your head a little._ _

__“I’ve got Molly’s phone number. We text all the time,” You say, nudging him with your shoulder._ _

__“You’re only such good friends with Molly because she helped work dad’s case, and you know that.”_ _

__You still at his words. He’s right. You depended on Molly first, and then she grew to depend on you. You chew on the inside of your cheek and draw abstract patterns in the sand._ _

__“So, who is he?” Ethan questions again. You groan and dig at the sand with your heel. He’s not going to let this go._ _

__“His name is Spencer. He really is a regular at the shop. He’s just a friend,” You say the last part slowly in an attempt to convince both Ethan and yourself._ _

__“I haven’t seen you that happy in a while.”_ _

__“You haven’t seen me at all in a while,” You quip._ _

__“That’s not my fault, though, is it?”_ _

__The question is rhetorical, but it hits you hard._ _

__“That’s not fair,” You say quietly. You can’t let any tears fall out here. It will sting too much with the cold._ _

__“Does ignoring us really make it any better?” He asks. You shake your head._ _

__“No. And I don’t ignore you. I talk to mom several times a week, I’ll have you know. I send Sylvie cool recipes that I find. You just don’t have any cool hobbies for me to work off of,” You jest. He wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you to rest against him, just like he did when you were kids. You sniffle, trying to keep the tears at bay. Your throat aches as you swallow hard, trying to push your emotions down._ _

__“Running away won’t make you forget. Trust me, I tried,” He admits. You don’t respond. You settle into his side, allowing him to comfort you in the best way he knows how._ _

__\---_ _

__The rest of the week passes in a blur. Your whole extended family comes over for Thanksgiving. At least eight of you work together in the kitchen at a time, following the orders that Sylvie barks out._ _

__After you finish dinner and clean up the kitchen with your grandmothers, you’re left to your own devices. You decide to borrow Sylvie’s car yet again, determined to complete the task you’ve been dreading most._ _

__You arrive about 20 minutes later. It snowed a little throughout the morning, so the ground is damp and cold. You sit anyways, sitting cross legged in front of your father’s headstone._ _

__“Hey Dad. I’m sorry it’s been so long,” You begin, your voice already cracking. “I guess I just never know what to say to you. You always know exactly how to make me feel better.”_ _

__You take a moment to pick at the dead grass, trying to think about what to say._ _

__“I was held at gunpoint, you know. Someone tried to rob my store. I thought I was going to die. After it was all over, I got really angry about the fact that someone was willing to kill me over a couple hundred dollars. Nobody should have the right to take someone’s life away…” You trail off. You blink hard, willing the tears to stop falling. “I made a new friend, and he saved my life. If he hadn’t stepped in when he did, I don’t know what would have happened. He stayed with me at the hospital to make sure I was okay. I’ve thanked him a million times, but I don’t think it will ever be enough.”_ _

__You let yourself cry for a minute, relieved that you’re alive and sitting here but grieving over your lost chance to see your dad again._ _

__“I’m scared, Dad. I’m scared that I’m letting life pass by without doing anything meaningful with it. I’ve never saved anybody’s life. I don’t bring joy to peoples’ wedding days and birthdays like Sylvie. You would be so proud of her. She actually cleans up after herself now,” You laugh, the sound getting caught up in your throat and you hiccup a bit. “And Ethan. You’d be proud of him too. He’s off being some big-shot social worker in Detroit. And I’m over here, running a bookstore and following the same routine every day. I don’t have any real, actual friends. I just talk to my regulars, and that’s it. That’s all Spencer is, even. He’s just another person who passes through my shop, letting me poke my head into his life for a few minutes every couple weeks.”_ _

__You take a deep breath to calm yourself down. Your legs are going numb from the icy water soaking through your jeans._ _

__“I’m sorry I don’t visit enough. I don’t want to make excuses, but all I see every time I come back here is you laying on the pavement. I can’t get that image out of my head,” You let out another sob._ _

__“We all miss you,” You whisper. You kiss your hand and place it on his gravestone._ _

__You pull yourself from the ground and get back in the car. You make a mental note to clean the seat later, no doubt leaving muddy marks behind. You drive back to your childhood home, trying to block out the last memories you have of your father._ _

__\---_ _

__Before you know it, you’re wheeling your, now significantly heavier, suitcase through the airport. As you take your seat on the plane, you can feel your body relax. Ethan may argue, but physical distance does help you to forget._ _

__You take a taxi straight to the shop, pulling the spare key from where it’s hidden in a potted plant out front. After disarming the alarm system, you take a look around. Everything appears to be in one piece. All of the items on the to-do list have been crossed off, and you finally release the breath you were holding. You trust your employees, but it’s good to be home._ _

__You lock the shop back up and return home. You make space on your biggest bookshelf for the collection Ethan got you. You organize and reorganize the shelf several times before settling on an arrangement._ _

__You don’t realize how heavy your body is until your head hits the pillow. You fall asleep instantly, dreaming of the freezing, choppy waves of Lake Michigan._ _


	8. Chapter 8

You’re jolted awake around four in the morning by visions of your dad. You gasp for air and squeeze your eyes shut to push the images away. You know there’s no way you can fall back asleep after that, so you resign yourself to getting ready and heading to the store early.

You lock the door behind you and flick on only some of the lights, letting the dull yellow glow comfort you. You find your way to the fantasy section, and you easily find a copy of _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets _. It was your father’s favorite book. You snuggle into a chair upstairs with a cup of coffee by your side. You didn’t get as much sleep as you should have last night, so today’s going to be a long day.__

__You’re a couple chapters in when you hear a knock on the door. You check your phone, and it’s only 5:15 in the morning. As you descend the spiral staircase, you see a familiar lanky figure waiting outside the door. You roll your eyes and give him a little smile as you unlock the door._ _

__“You know our hours are written on the glass right here,” You say, tapping your finger on the posted hours. Spencer shakes his head at you, and you move aside to let him in._ _

__“How are you?” He questions. You feel like he can see into your soul as he eyes you up and down. You shrink back under his gaze, crossing your arms over your torso._ _

__“Tired,” You reply. You’re sure you look the part. He walks towards the back of the shop. You lock the door again before following him. He pours himself a cup of coffee, and you have to hold in a comment about how much sugar he adds. You flop back in your seat, allowing him to follow if he chooses._ _

__He does._ _

__“Why are you here so early?” He asks. You take a big drink of your coffee, praying that the caffeine will kick in soon._ _

__“I couldn’t sleep. Bad dreams,” You respond simply. He nods and makes a sound of affirmation. “Why are you here so early?”_ _

__“My flight landed a little bit ago. I was on my way home, and I saw the lights were on,” He says nonchalantly._ _

__“Are you stalking me?” You cover your smile by continuing to drink. He sputters on his in response to your question._ _

__“No, I’m not stalking you,” He protests, his voice going up a couple octaves. “I just have a weird sleep schedule. Apparently you do too.”_ _

__You don’t respond to his comment. You slide down in your chair, letting your head fall back and your eyes close. The coffee isn’t working. You fill the silence by drumming a short melody on the arm of the chair with your fingers._ _

__“Are you sure you’re okay?” Spencer asks again. You open your eyes and give him a look, and he’s looking back at you intensely. “You’re more anxious than normal.”_ _

__“I have two comments. First of all, how dare you imply that I’m normally anxious. Secondly, are you profiling me?” You smile at him to show that you’re joking._ _

__“I don’t think there’s been a single time that I’ve seen you completely relaxed. You’re always moving or working on a task,” He points out. You stop tapping your fingers._ _

__“So you are profiling me,” You say, leaning forward in your chair. You place your elbows on your knees and look over at him. “If you’re so good at your job, what am I thinking?”_ _

__“That’s not how that works,” He states. You stare him down, not backing down from your challenge. He sighs before leaning forward towards you. “You’re exhausted. You may think you’ve slept well recently, but you haven’t let your brain turn off in a long time. You always like to be in control of a situation, and you’re usually the first to make a move. Normally, that indicates a dominant personality. I don’t think you have one, though. You pretend to be a strong leader, but you’d much rather let others be the center of attention.”_ _

__“Rude,” You mumble under your breath. You pull your legs up into the chair, crossing them underneath you._ _

__“I see I hit a sensitive spot. You’re pulling your limbs towards yourself, simultaneously making yourself smaller and putting up physical barriers. You’re definitely not a narcissist, because you didn’t challenge my critiques of you. You’re also probably not a psychopath, since I seem to have caused an emotional reaction.”_ _

__“I get it!” You screech, throwing your hands over your head._ _

__“You asked me to profile you!” Spencer defends himself._ _

__“I know. I just didn’t know I have such a weak personality,” You sulk before drinking the last of your coffee._ _

__“I never said you have a weak personality. Quite the opposite, actually. I just said you have a submissive personality. You’re more likely to follow someone that likes to lead,” He explains. You nod, still bristling at the near-insult._ _

__“Is there a reason you’re here?” You ask to change the subject. You wince when it comes out meaner than anticipated._ _

__“Right. I brought this back for you,” He says as he reaches into his bag. He tosses you your copy of _No Exit _, and you manage to catch it expertly. You check it over, and it’s in the same pristine condition as it was the last time you saw it.___ _

____“So, what did you think?” You prod._ _ _ _

____“It was really good. It’s definitely a deep dive into nihilism and existentialism. It still surprises me that you would like something like that, though,” He responds. You shift uncomfortably at his comment. You know he’s not trying to insult you, and your exhaustion is just making you irritable, but it still rubs you the wrong way._ _ _ _

____“I’m sorry, do you think the discussion about moral ambiguity and the use of conflicting personalities as torture is too much for me?” You snap._ _ _ _

____“I didn’t mean it like that. You’re brilliant, and your literary knowledge never ceases to amaze me. It just seems a little dark for someone like you. I’m sorry that my phrasing upset you,” He apologizes. You turn your head away at the complement, focusing on the cover of a book across the room._ _ _ _

____“I need to go finish opening the store. You can stay if you want, but I’ve got work to do,” You say quietly as you push yourself out of the chair. You descend the stairs with your coffee cup in-hand. You get a refill and drink it down quickly, hoping a second dose of caffeine will snap you back into your right mind._ _ _ _

____You feel his eyes on your back as you finish your opening tasks. You don’t look up at him, but you sense his presence. You flick the ‘open’ sign on, settling yourself behind the register. Nobody comes through for a while. Sometimes you question why you open so early on the weekends. Then you quickly remember that sitting and waiting here is better than being home alone._ _ _ _

____The first customer doesn’t come through until around eight. Spencer is still upstairs. About an hour ago, you heard him grab a book and start flipping through it impossibly fast. He must be skimming one of the textbooks._ _ _ _

____He leaves while you’re checking your customer out, only offering a small wave as a good-bye. You feel guilty for making him feel bad, but you’ve had a hard week and kind of want to be alone._ _ _ _

____You’re pulled out of your wallowing when Molly comes in. You must look startled, because she makes her way over to you immediately._ _ _ _

____“What are you doing here? It’s not a Monday,” You say bluntly. She chuckles at your commentary on the obvious._ _ _ _

____“I’m here because you look like you need some fun. An old friend of mine is hosting a Christmas party in a couple weeks, and I want you to be my plus one!” She beams from the other side of the counter._ _ _ _

____“Me? Really?” You ask in disbelief._ _ _ _

____“Yes, you. Despite what you might think, you are actually one of my friends. I was originally planning on bringing Link, but obviously that’s not happening. It’s two weeks from today. I’ll meet you here and we’ll head over together,” She tells you as she backs out of the doorway. She doesn’t give you a moment to protest before she’s gone._ _ _ _

____You’re left to wonder what the heck just happened, and what you’re supposed to wear to a fancy Christmas party with a lawyer._ _ _ _


	9. Chapter 9

You pace the floor of your apartment, seriously debating faking an illness so you don’t have to go to this party with Molly. You don’t own anything dressy enough for this type of event. You’ve been texting back and forth with Molly, begging her for some direction on what to wear. She simply texts back ‘it’s a formal event’.

You get ready to throw yourself at the floor just a moment before remembering the dress you have stashed away in the back of your closet. It was supposed to be a bridesmaids’ dress for your cousin’s wedding, but it got called off before you could wear it. 

You quickly throw some curls in your hair, pinning it up to keep it off your neck. You opt for a dramatic winged eyeliner look. The dress is a navy color, so you don’t have many options for bold lipstick. You settle on a nude lip, and you apply a decent amount of berry-hued blush across your cheeks and nose. At the last second, you add some sparkly gold highlighter to your cheeks and the tip of your nose. 

It is Christmas, after all.

The dress is easy enough to slip into. You silently thank whatever holy spirit there is that you haven’t gained any weight over the past couple years. The bodice of the dress is fitted and covered in fake gemstones and sequins. The skirt is made of layers of delicate and flowy chiffon. It’s got a deep v neckline, lower cut than you remember, and you hope that the host isn’t going to judge you much for it. The back dips low enough that you can zip it up yourself with no issue. You toss on a pair of sparkly gold heels and your best pea coat before dashing out the door. 

Molly meets you at the shop, driving you the rest of the way to her friend’s house. She won’t give you any additional information. Wherever it is, it must be nice if they asked you to dress like this. 

You have to physically fight to keep your jaw from dropping when you arrive at your destination. It’s a massive mansion, easily four stories tall. There’s a large roundabout driveway. Molly nudges for you to get out when she pulls up to the front door. She also gets out, telling her information to a well-dressed man. 

“They have a valet? At their house?” You whisper-shout at Molly when she links her arm in yours. 

“Only for special occasions,” Molly smiles as she leads you into the lavish home. 

You can’t stop looking around at all of the decorations everywhere. There’s a huge Christmas tree in the center of the foyer, dressed to the nines with shimmering gold ornaments and twinkling lights. You can hear music playing in another room, and it almost drowns out the chatter from the dozens of guests milling about. The smell of mulled wine hits your nose, and you have to keep yourself from chasing it down. 

You look over at Molly in amazement, and she simply laughs at you. 

Someone dressed in a nice suit approaches you to take your coats. He takes down your names before disappearing again.

“Who exactly is this friend of yours?” You ask, eyes still tracing around the room and taking in all of the decorations.

“He’s an author, which is why I thought you’d enjoy being my guest,” She explains. You whip your head around to look at her.

“He’s gotta be a pretty damn good author to have a house like this,” You say. 

“I’d like to think I’m not half bad,” A male voice jokes from behind you. You freeze and look at Molly with wide eyes. A grin breaks out on her face. 

“[Y/n], meet David Rossi. Dave, this is [y/n]. She owns a little bookshop downtown, so I thought I’d bring her to meet you,” Molly introduces you. You give an awkward little curtsy, failing to regain your social graces.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Rossi,” You offer your hand politely. He takes it before pulling you in to air-kiss both of your cheeks. You study his face when he pulls away. He looks strangely familiar, but you don’t think you’ve read any of his books. 

“Please, call me Dave. How about we get you ladies some drinks?” He offers.

Dave leads you and Molly further into his home. You keep your grip on Molly’s arm, fearing that you’ll wander off if you let go. Soon enough, a glass of champagne finds your hand. 

“Now, I’ve got to go schmooze for a while. I’ll find you later, and we can talk books,” Dave says in your ear. You nod your head instead of talking. You’re afraid something stupid will come out if you open it again. 

Molly pulls you around the house and introduces you to some of her friends and colleagues. You mingle politely, though your chest hurts at the thought of the lifestyle you’re missing out on. This is normal for some people. For you, this is a once-in-a-lifetime thing. 

Your friend notices your discomfort, and she makes an effort to keep your glass full at all times. You make sure to snack steadily so you don’t get too tipsy. You’ve already made yourself look bad enough. 

Before long, your gracious host makes his way back over, joining you in a small sitting area. 

“How long have you owned your bookstore?” He asks politely. 

“Only about four years. Not very long in the grand scheme of things. Molly tells me you’re an author, but I don’t believe I’ve seen your name on any of the books I carry in my store. What do you write about?” You try to phrase your question as delicately as possible. You don’t want to make it sound like you’re downplaying his achievements. It’s obvious that plenty of people like his work.

“I wrote the book on hostage negotiation,” He replies bluntly. You raise your eyebrows at that information.

“I have a feeling you’re not just an author…” You trail off. He chuckles and nods.

“I work for the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit. I used to work in hostage negotiation before I retired. I’ve since un-retired. I just can’t seem to shake them,” Dave jokes. You laugh politely as you try not to let your shock show. 

That’s where Spencer works. 

You’re just about to ask about him when Dave turns his attention to something behind you. 

“Ah, and here is one of my obsessive followers. The one and only Dr. Spencer Reid,” Dave rises to greet his colleague. For the second time tonight, you’re left frozen while you debate all of the life choices that have led to this point. You follow Dave’s lead and pull yourself up from your seat. 

“Dr. Reid, it’s nice to see you again,” You chirp politely. You give a small nod instead of offering your hand. You’ve never seen him shake anybody’s hand. 

“[Y/n], what are you doing here?” You reel back slightly at the surprised sound of his voice.

“I’m here as a guest. A friend of a friend, if you will. I’m not sure where she went, actually,” You turn to search for Molly. She disappeared into the crowd while you talked with Dave. 

“Rossi, why didn’t I get a plus one?” Spencer asks. The childish lilt to his voice takes you by surprise. 

“Because, kid, you don’t go to social functions. I didn’t know you’d actually come,” Dave replies. You smirk at their dynamic. Clearly they work well with one another. 

“Well, if you two gentlemen will excuse me, I need to go grab a refill,” You state, tilting the glass in your hand at them for emphasis. You begin to walk back towards where you think the kitchen is.

“I’ll come with you,” Spencer offers. You open your mouth to protest, but Dave takes the opportunity to turn his attention to another guest. 

Spencer places his hand on your lower back and guides you to the kitchen. You pour another glass of a dark cherry wine. This will likely be one of the only times you drink this season, and this particular wine reminds you of home. You pour a little more than what’s considered standard, and Spencer raises his eyebrows at you when he notices.

“Are you doing okay?” He asks. You swallow down the scoff you almost let slip.

“Yes. My simple little brain and I are doing just fine,” You bite. It’s slightly unfair for you to still be mad about a comment he made several weeks ago, but you’re having a hard time letting it go.

“Really? You’re still mad about that?” Spencer says incredulously, his voice raising a couple octaves.

“Yes, I am still mad about it!” You exclaim. You realize your voice is rising, so you take a moment to collect yourself. You place your glass on the counter, keeping it safe because you talk with your hands. “I might not have three PhDs or work for the FBI, but I’m still smart. It stings that you have such a hard time believing that I like deep, complex, metaphoric literature. I might just be a lowly bookstore clerk, but that doesn’t mean I’m not intelligent and capable of elaborate literary analysis.”

You grab your glass and turn to march off. You feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You find a set of french doors leading out to a balcony. The cold air hitting your skin feels nice. You didn’t realize how hot you were until you stepped outside. You take a couple deep breaths, leaning into the sting of the winter air filling your lungs. Your emotions are making you feel nauseous, so you leave your wine untouched. 

“I’m sorry I made you feel stupid,” His voice is quiet behind you. You grip the railing, begging your emotions to hold it together long enough to plot an escape route. 

“Spencer,” You sigh. “It’s fine, really.”

“No, it’s not fine. You’re incredibly brilliant, and I’m sorry that I made you feel anything less than that. Your taste in books just caught me off guard. I notice a lot of things about people when I meet them. Typically, their favorite book tells me a lot about their personality. I expected the same to be true of you, but clearly you’re much more complex than that,” His voice is soft, and you want to throw yourself off of the balcony. You flinch as his hand touches your shoulder. He forces you to face him, and his mouth turns downward at the sight of tears running down your cheeks.

“I have lived my whole life being compared to my siblings. My father was a genius. My mother is the most incredible person I know. And I’m just me. I’m the family disappointment. My literary knowledge is all that I have to be proud of, and you calling that into question hit deep,” You keep your voice low. For now, the tears are mostly for show. They threaten to take over, however, the louder you get. 

“I will never stop apologizing for the fact that I hurt you. That was never my intention. I’m not very good at this whole thing,” He gestures vaguely between the two of you. 

“At what? Socializing? Communicating?”

“At flirting.”

Your blood runs cold at his words. There’s only been one other time in your life where two simple words made you feel so sick. 

You shoulder your way around him, dashing back inside. You hear him call your name once, but you don’t respond. You lock eyes with Molly as you enter the house. She immediately comes to your side, lacing her elbow in yours yet again. She knows exactly what you’re feeling by the look on your face. She doesn’t ask any questions before you buckle yourself in her car and are on the way back to your store.

“What happened?” She asks. 

“Nothing,” You reply. Your voice is crackly, and your throat hurts from keeping your tears from falling.

“You can’t lie to me. I’m a lawyer,” She elbows you. You smirk at her joke. “I haven’t seen you this upset in a long time. Something happened.”

“He likes me,” You say flatly. 

“Who?”

“The FBI agent that saved me during the robbery. He comes to the store every couple of weeks. He’s so nice and he has a great sense of humor. We got in a fight a couple weeks ago, and he just tried to fix it by telling me he likes me,” You explain. She nods along as you talk, switching to shaking it when you finish talking.

“And that’s a problem because…” She leaves the statement open ended for you to finish.

“Because I don’t know if I feel the same way?” You phrase it as a question instead of a statement. Molly throws an unimpressed look your way from the driver’s seat.

“I feel like a declaration of love shouldn’t elicit this type of reaction.”

You sigh and sink further into your seat. It’s so much more complicated than that, but you don’t want to get into it with three glasses of wine in your system.

Molly doesn’t push the subject, instead dropping you at the store and watching you start your car before driving away. 

You feel guilty for possibly ruining her night, but you couldn’t stand the suffocating weight of that conversation anymore. There were implications that you aren’t ready to face yet.

To be honest, you’re not sure if you’ll ever be able to face them.


	10. Chapter 10

Two weeks come and go, and Spencer doesn’t come to visit. You’re too focused on the Christmas crowds to worry about your possibly failing friendship. 

On Christmas Eve, you send Jesse and Nick home early to spend the evening with their families. You spend the final few hours of your day organizing the store, righting the chaos of the final day before Christmas. 

You bake yourself cinnamon rolls on Christmas morning, a tradition from childhood that you can’t let go. You spend some time with your special edition copy of The Bell Jar that Ethan bought you. By the evening, you decide that it’s too quiet and lonely in your apartment, so you pack your things and head to the shop. 

You turn on the string lights you looped around the loft railing, and you smile at the twinkling reflection in the window. You pull your legs up underneath you in your chair with your copy of _Harry Potter _in your lap. Your father always played the movies during Christmastime.__

__You audibly groan when you hear a knock on the door. You know exactly who it is, and you’re not in the mood. You stay seated for a moment, hoping he’ll go away._ _

__Of course, he doesn’t._ _

__You storm down the stairs, marching up to the door with your arms crossed._ _

__“We’re closed,” You say, gesturing to the hours written on the door._ _

__“I brought hot chocolate,” Spencer offers as he holds up two travel mugs. You sigh before moving to unlock the door. He’s not going to go away, and you both know it._ _

__“What cafe is open this late on Christmas for you to buy hot chocolate?” You ask when he presses the mug into your hand._ _

__“None. I made it myself,” Your heart flutters at his statement. You breeze past him, reclaiming your seat in the loft before he has a chance to notice your shift in attitude._ _

__“What are you doing here?” You call to him as he trots up the stairs._ _

__“I could ask you the same thing,” He replies as he falls into the chair next to yours. You give him a look, but he pretends not to see._ _

__“I’m here because past trauma keeps me from seeing my family more than once a year lest I be thrown into a depressive state. Your turn,” You say bluntly. He whips his head to look at you, eyes wide, and any remnants of joking gone._ _

__“I’m here because my mother isn’t in a good mental state right now, so I made the decision to stay home by myself and not upset her further,” He answers. It’s your turn to look surprised._ _

__“I meant what are you doing here. Like, sitting in front of me. I half expected you to not show up here again,” You try to look nonchalant as you drink from your mug. He makes some really good hot chocolate._ _

__“I saw your lights on, and it made me sad to think that you were going to spend the night here alone. Nobody deserves to be alone on Christmas,” He says, letting a smile creep back onto his face._ _

__“And you just so happened to have two mugs of hot chocolate at the ready?” You question before taking a sip of your drink to make your point. He rolls his eyes at you, refusing to give in to your interrogation._ _

__“Why did you run away?” He asks. You pull your legs up underneath you again, and you have no doubt that Spencer notices you putting your walls up again._ _

__“I was borderline drunk and not in any state to have that kind of conversation,” You avert your eyes as you lie through your teeth. He definitely notices that._ _

__“Are you ready to have that conversation now?”_ _

__You suck in a deep breath and chew at the inside of your cheek. It doesn’t take a profiler to see how uncomfortable you are._ _

__“I’m starting to think I don’t have a choice,” You say quietly. You hear Spencer shift his weight in the chair, but you don’t dare look at him. “I ran because I was scared. I ran because every good thing in my life is taken away from me. I ran because if this actually becomes a thing, you’re going to learn things about me that scare me.”_ _

__You meet his eyes momentarily, and he’s watching you intensely._ _

__“What are you so afraid of?” He asks softly. The tone of his voice makes you want to melt into the floor._ _

__“Myself,” You laugh bitterly. He doesn’t seem impressed. “My dad died when I was nineteen. He was killed while we were out walking downtown. My sister and I were walking ahead of him, and we didn’t stop until we heard his body hit the ground. We thought it was a heart attack at first, so I started doing chest compressions. He died under my hands before the ambulance even got there. It wasn’t a heart attack. There was a single puncture wound from a needle in his neck. Nobody saw anything, and we never found out who did it or why.”_ _

__You wring your hands together in front of you, another nervous habit. You freeze when Spencer’s warm hands cover yours._ _

__“I loved him more than anybody in this world. He was everything to me. And he died on the cold pavement right in front of me. I probably even sped up his death by doing compressions. Our family imploded after he died. I almost didn’t make it through that,” Your voice cracks. Spencer opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off by continuing. “If I ever lose somebody like that again, I won’t survive it. The easiest way to prevent that from happening is by not letting myself get close to anybody.”_ _

__“It wasn’t your fault,” He says, squeezing your hand. It takes all of the self control in your body to not storm away at his words. You’ve heard them too much in your life. “And you can’t go through life so guarded. What kind of life is that?”_ _

__You know the question is rhetorical, but you can’t stand the silence after he finishes speaking._ _

__“A safe one,” You mumble. His hands tense over yours._ _

__“Aren’t you lonely?”_ _

__You close your eyes softly at his question. The tears slip down your face without permission. Your teeth clench as you fight the internal war to keep yourself from falling to pieces._ _

__“How long has it been since you’ve let someone in?” He continues his questioning. He begins rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand, and you can feel yourself ripping at the seams._ _

__“Spencer-” You warn._ _

__Once the first sob leaves your body, you have no control over what follows. Spencer’s hands leave yours, and you briefly reach out to chase the missing warmth. You bring your now-free hand up to cover your mouth, muffling the cries that leave your body. You hardly notice Spencer shifting you around, wiggling his way into your seat and pulling you back into him. You rest your head on his chest while desperately trying to regain control of your breathing. It only comes in hiccups, though, making it difficult to get enough oxygen._ _

__You continue this way for longer than you’d like to admit. Spencer runs his fingers through your hair while whispering unimportant affirmations in your ear. You try to match your breathing to his in an attempt to even it out. Your hiccups are fewer and farther between, allowing you time to be embarrassed about your actions._ _

__“I’m sorry,” You apologize as you begin to pull yourself from his lap. “You didn’t come here to see me have my yearly mental breakdown.”_ _

__Spencer’s grip tightens for a moment before letting you go. You shove down the feeling that you miss the heat of his body._ _

__“You can’t keep your emotions bottled up forever,” He states, distinctly ignoring your apology._ _

__“Watch me try,” You call as you gently pad down the stairs to grab a water bottle. You drink almost the whole thing at once. Crying always makes you very dehydrated._ _

__When you pop your head back up through the stairwell you see Spencer thumbing through your copy of _Harry Potter _.___ _

____“Do you ever actually read anything, or do you just skim?” You ask, taking a seat on the coffee table across from his chair._ _ _ _

____“I am reading,” He states. He’s still flipping pages at an inhuman speed._ _ _ _

____“No you’re not. Nobody can read that fast,” You scoff. He stops and looks up at you. You didn’t notice how tired he looks until now._ _ _ _

____“I can read 20,000 words a minute. I promise you I’m actually reading.”_ _ _ _

____“That’s impossible,” You argue. You’re startled when Spencer begins reciting a passage from the middle of the book, nailing it word-for-word. The only reason you know he’s right is because you’ve read these books multiple times a year since you were a child. Your eyes must have gone wide because Spencer stops and laughs at you._ _ _ _

____“I told you. I can absorb information faster than the average person. The eidetic memory helps too,” He says with a smirk on his face._ _ _ _

____“You’re not actually human, are you?” You question, leaning forward to poke him in the arm._ _ _ _

____“Unfortunately, I’m very much human,” He replies while he smacks your hand away. Your jokes are cut off by the sound of your phone vibrating on the side-table next to Spencer’s chair. He grabs it and holds it out to you. It’s your mother._ _ _ _

____“Ah, time for my yearly emotionally manipulative family phone call. This should only take a moment,” You say as you grab it from his hand. You answer and bring it to your ear. You don’t care if Spencer hears anything. Nothing your mother could say would catch you so off guard that you wouldn’t want him to hear your response._ _ _ _

____You chat with your mother for a solid ten minutes. It’s all casual conversation, discussing what they had for dinner, and you tell her about David Rossi’s party. You intentionally leave out your conversation with Spencer, which causes him to raise his eyebrows at you. Your mother waits until just before hanging up to drop a bombshell on you. You screech at the news, startling Spencer, and you can’t think of a response before hanging up the phone._ _ _ _

____When the call ends, you stare at the wall for a moment, trying to process the news. You’re brought back to reality by Spencer snapping his fingers in front of your face._ _ _ _

____“Hey there. Is everything okay?” He asks. You look over at him, blinking slowly, still trying to process._ _ _ _

____“My brother got engaged,” You say numbly._ _ _ _

____“That’s exciting news,” Spencer replies cautiously. You worry your bottom lip between your teeth. You’ve revealed a lot of personal information this evening, and this is about to require you to reveal more._ _ _ _

____“My brother proposed to Heather Maitlin. She’s the younger sister of the man that I’m pretty sure cheated on me and caused me to move out here,” You state. You pick at your nails as you feel the anxiety bubble up in your chest again._ _ _ _

____“That’s… Less exciting,” He responds. You can feel him eyeing you up and down, trying to judge your current emotional state._ _ _ _

____“He didn’t even tell me they were dating. We all had dinner together when I was there last month, and he didn’t say anything,” You mumble._ _ _ _

____“I’m sure he had his reasons, even if they were stupid.”_ _ _ _

____You roll your eyes at him while you check the time on your phone. It’s a lot later than you thought._ _ _ _

____“I, uh, I think we should probably head out. I have to open early tomorrow. There are probably going to be lots of people that want to do returns,” You say as you begin packing up your things. Spencer helps you by tossing all of your belongings into your bag._ _ _ _

____You shut the lights back off and lead him towards the door. He stands by your side while you set the alarm and lock the shop back up for the night. You stop walking towards your car when you hear him call your name._ _ _ _

____“Rossi’s having a New Year’s party next week. He actually told me that I could bring a plus one this time. You should come.”_ _ _ _

____“I don’t know. After what happened at the last party…” You trail off, giving him a look so he knows you’re joking._ _ _ _

____“I’ll pick you up at eight.”_ _ _ _


	11. Chapter 11

For the second time this month, you find yourself texting Molly to figure out what to wear. Apparently this party is much less formal, but it’s still a party.

You squeeze yourself into a skin-tight, sparkly gold dress. It feels more than fitting for the occasion. You throw on your favorite pair of black heels after deciding against wearing tights under your dress. If this party is anything like last time, there will be enough bodies to generate heat to keep you warm. You leave your hair long and loose, and you opt for simple makeup. Your dress is a statement piece, and you don’t want to arrive looking like a clown. 

You get a text from Spencer right at eight telling you he’s arrived. You can’t help but notice his eyes raking up and down your body as you buckle your seatbelt. The drive takes about a half-hour, and you spend the time asking way too many questions about his coworkers that will be there. You didn’t get a chance to meet any of them last time. 

Spencer escorts you into the mansion for a second time. It’s no less awe inducing than last time. The Christmas decorations have been taken down, but there are twinkly lights and glass decorations everywhere. 

Dave seems to appear from the woodwork to greet the two of you. 

“[Y/n], I didn’t think Molly was coming tonight! It’s great to see you,” He pulls you in to kiss each cheek.

“Oh, she didn’t bring me this time. I’m here with Spencer tonight,” You say, pointing to the lanky figure standing next to you. They share a look, and you desperately want to know what that’s about. 

“Well, the team is in the kitchen preparing their first round of drinks. Go, have fun, be kids. Don’t break anything,” He shoos you towards the kitchen. 

You’re greeted by a group of some of the most beautiful people you’ve ever seen. You’re immediately bombarded by a chipper blonde woman in an outfit far more exciting than yours.

“You must be Spencer’s friend! We’ve heard so much about you! Come, come. Let’s get you a drink,” The woman grabs your hand and pulls you towards the island. You shoot a look over your shoulder towards Spencer, but he’s busy inspecting the paint on the wall. “I’m Penelope Garcia, and these guys make up the remainder of the BAU.”

The group goes around and introduces themselves to you. They are all extremely friendly and polite. A man named Derek Morgan kisses the back of your hand after he makes his introduction. 

“Ah-ah, Morgan. Paws off. I think this one’s taken,” Penelope chides. He raises his eyebrows at Spencer, begging for an explanation. 

“Oh, no, it’s not like tha-” You begin to defend yourself.

“You two might not know it yet, but it’s definitely like that. Spencer doesn’t have friends outside of work. I don’t think you realize how much of a big deal this is,” Penelope rambles on. You glance over towards Spencer. He’s facing away from you and has his head ducked down so you can’t read his expression. 

“Garcia, let the poor girl breathe,” A dark haired woman named Emily says. She passes you a glass. You’re not exactly sure what’s in it, but you gladly take a drink. Whatever it is tastes very sweet and extremely alcoholic. 

“Whatever, Emily. Let’s go dance!” Penelope cheers. She takes your hand yet again and leads you farther into the house.

One of the many sitting rooms has been turned into a dance floor. You down your drink quickly, and you’re already starting to feel the buzz. Penelope leads you to the center of the dance floor, and you’re immediately starting to overheat from the dozens of bodies moving around you. The party scene was never really your style, but you can’t deny how fun it is to just let loose every once in a while. 

Between songs, you catch a glimpse of Spencer standing off to the side with one of his colleagues. He’s got his eyes on you, but they’re clearly talking about something else. You wave him over, and he pretends to ignore you. Not one to be brushed off, you march over to him and grab his hand, dragging him back towards the dance floor. He protests, but you manage to get him towards the middle. 

“I don’t dance,” He shouts over the music. 

“Neither do I,” You shout back. You begin to bounce in time with the rhythm of the song. He continues to stand there awkwardly, so you throw your arms over his shoulders and all but force him to move with you. 

He resists you at first, but you feel him hesitantly put his hands on your waist after a moment. You think he must gain some confidence when you don’t push him away because he wraps his arms further around you, placing his hand a little lower on your back than what one would deem casual. Without warning him, you spin around in his arms so your back is flush with his front. You try to ignore the warmth that ignites in your chest when you feel his hands slide across your body. You continue to dance for a while longer, and he seems to continue to gain confidence. He’s got both of his hands on your hips, and you have to put effort into keeping your breathing steady. You can feel his breath on your shoulder, and all at once it becomes too much for you. 

“I’m gonna go get a drink, okay?” You call over your shoulder at him. He releases you, and you almost run out of the room. 

You find your way to the balcony from last time, and you choke a little on the rush of cold air. Half-way through your coughing fit, a small blonde woman joins you. You think someone told you to call her JJ.

“Having fun?” She asks as she approaches you. 

“Yeah. I just got really warm in there and needed a break,” You tell her. They told you that she’s a profiler too, so she can probably see your lies from a mile away.

“Rossi’s parties can get pretty intense sometimes,” She looks at you pointedly while taking a sip of her drink. “You and Spencer seem to be having fun.”

“I was trying to get him to loosen up a little. He doesn’t seem like he would enjoy parties like this,” You reply. 

“He usually doesn’t. He typically shows up for about an hour before leaving. I haven’t seen him that relaxed in a really long time,” She admits. “He really likes you, you know.”

“I know. He’s so sweet, and he’s the reason I only have this instead of being buried six feet under somewhere,” You gesture towards the scar on your face. “I just… don’t know.”

“That boy will bring you the moon and stars if you let him. And he may try even if you don’t let him.” You nod at her comment as she walks back towards the doors. “We’ll be in the kitchen if you want to join us.”

You stay out on the balcony for a while longer, letting your skin go numb from the cold. You eventually collect yourself enough to head back inside. You find your way to the kitchen, and Emily immediately places another drink in your hand. Spencer joins as well, and his hand brushes across your upper arm as he makes his way to the fridge.

“Woah, you’re freezing. Were you outside this entire time?” He questions while he pulls a bottle of water out of the fridge. 

“Yeah. I got too warm and needed to cool off,” You say, nonchalantly sipping your drink. 

You stand around the kitchen island listening to Spencer’s team tell you stories about some of their best cases. You can tell they’re leaving some details out. They’re probably trying not to scare you. You tell them all about your bookstore and the move from Michigan to Virginia. 

Derek makes some stupid joke, causing you all to erupt in laughter right as Dave enters the room.

“If you guys don’t want to miss the ball drop, you better get yourselves to the living room.”

You all grab the glasses of champagne you poured and make your way to the living room. The New Year’s broadcast is displayed on a television that’s almost as big as the wall. 

The crowd counts down loudly together, erupting in cheers when the clock strikes midnight. Spencer’s arm tightens around your shoulders, and you clink your glass against his, downing almost the whole drink in one go. You look around at all of the couples kissing, and it makes your heart hurt a little. 

You rest your head on Spencer’s shoulder and ponder how bad of a mistake it would be to give in to him.


	12. Chapter 12

By the end of January, Spencer has only come to visit twice. You feel like he’s trying to give you space. You appreciate his respect for your boundaries, but you also miss him.

One Monday morning in early February, you’re woken up by a nightmare about your father. It’s only three in the morning, but there’s no way you’re willing to close your eyes again. You pack your things and head to the shop since you’ve got nothing better to do. You manage to park your car outside the store just before four fifteen.

You’re turning the key in the front door when a voice behind you startles you enough to make you drop all of your things.

“Why are you here so early?” Spencer asks.

“Why do you keep sneaking up on me?” You screech back. He laughs while helping you pick up your stuff.

“Should I start stomping around to alert you to my presence?” He raises his eyebrows at you. “Seriously though, what are you doing here?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” You mumble as you finally kick the door open. You dash to disarm the alarm system before continuing your conversation. “How do you always know when I’m going to be here?”

“I couldn’t sleep either. I was out taking a walk when I saw your car pull up,” He replies. You dump all of your belongings behind the front counter. Your phone clatters to the floor, and you don’t dare to pick it up because you won’t be able to emotionally handle it if your screen is broken.

You march back to the coffee station and Spencer follows several steps behind. He’s caught on that you’re not really in the mood to talk this morning. You fill the coffee maker with bottled water, and as you go to toss the bottle in the recycling, your hand clips one of your mugs. Before you have time to react, it crashes to the floor and shatters. You swear under your breath and tears start to fill your field of vision.

You feel Spencer’s hands on your upper arms as he backs you away from the situation.

“Take a deep breath. It’s okay. What’s going on?” He asks softly.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine,” You sulk, looking at the mess you’ve made over his shoulder. He turns you so you’re forced to look away.

“It’s my job to know when people are lying to me,” He states simply. He rubs his hands up and down your arms, and you have to fight to not flinch away from his touch.

“I had another dream about my dad. The anniversary is later this month. It’s been almost 6 years,” You say softly. Your voice shakes under the weight of your words. Spencer pulls you into his chest and begins gently running his hand up and down your back.

“Anniversaries are pretty terrible like that. I’m sorry you’re struggling right now,” Spencer whispers against the top of your head.

You hear a faint ringing start to build in your ears. His touch is too much, and the room feels like it’s closing in around you. You step back from him, and he looks alarmed at your sudden movement. You start tapping the tips of your fingers to your thumb, a dead giveaway for your anxiety that you’ve carried with you since childhood. You squeeze your eyes shut to prevent the world from starting to spin around you.

Spencer’s words cut through your pending panic attack and ground you back to reality.

“I’m your lark-mirror, my dear, and you can’t escape me. So what about it? Suppose the mirror started telling lies? Or suppose I covered my eyes- as he is doing- and refused to look at you, all that loveliness of yours would be wasted on the desert air. No, don’t be afraid, I can’t help looking at you. I shan’t turn my eyes away. And I’ll be nice to you, ever so nice. Only, you must be nice to me too,” Spencer states.

Your eyes fly back open and meet his as you realize what he’s doing.

He’s reciting a passage from _No Exit_. More specifically, he’s reciting a passage you marked as a favorite. You know he memorized it the first time through, but this sounds different than when he recited a section of _Harry Potter_ back at you.

He knows you have it memorized too, and he’s trying to get you out of your own head.

“Are you really attracted by me?” You question, throwing as much of an innocent feminine tone in your voice as possible. It’s not easy to act like the ditzy blonde you know the character Estelle to be when you’re halfway through a panic attack.

“Very much indeed,” Reid replies. You know it’s all part of the play, but your knees still go a little weak at his words.

If you weren’t so stuck in your own head, you’d laugh at the current situation. The two of you are squaring off in the back of your shop, reciting lines from a mid-century existentialist play written by a nihilistic French philosopher.

And Spencer is way too good at this.

Little does he know, he’s invited you to play a game he can’t possibly win.

He pauses for a minute, circling you. You can tell he’s searching for a way to mess you up. The few tears that fell from your eyes have since dried, and your heart rate has almost settled back to normal.

This is a coping mechanism they don’t teach in therapy.

“Listen,” He says sharply. It catches you off guard, but you know exactly what passage he’s starting. “Each man has an aim in life, a leading motive; that’s so, isn’t it? Well, I didn’t give a damn for wealth, or for love. I aimed at being a real man. A tough, as they say. I staked everything on the same horse. Can one possibly be a coward when one’s deliberately courted danger at every turn? And can one judge a life by a single action?”

“Why not?” You reply coolly, embracing the powerful nature of your favorite character, Inez. You’ve spent years flipping between these characters in your head. Spencer clearly doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into. “For thirty years you dreamt you were a hero, and condoned a thousand petty lapses- because a hero, of course, can do no wrong. An easy method, obviously. Then a day came when you were up against it, the red light of real danger- and you took the train to Mexico.”

“I dreamt, you say. It was no dream. When I chose the hardest path, I made my choice deliberately. A man is what he wills himself to be.”

“Prove it. Prove it was no dream. It’s what one does, and nothing else, that shows the stuff one’s made of,” You get into his face as you complete your line. He’s choosing scenes to egg you on.

“I died too soon. I wasn’t allowed time to do my deeds,” Spencer’s posture reflects yours, and he looks down at you. He’s got a curious look on his face. He apparently didn’t expect for you to be so into this.

“One always dies too soon- or too late. And yet one’s whole life is complete at that moment, with a line drawn neatly under it, ready for the summing up. You are your life, and nothing else.”

“What a poisonous woman you are. With an answer for everything,” Spencer bites.

You can’t help but break character and laugh at him. If this is his way of showing how he feels about you, his last line must sum your relationship up perfectly. He seems amused by your realization. You quickly stop laughing when you notice the mischievous look on his face.

“I’ll give you what I can. It doesn’t amount to much. I shan’t love you; I know you too well,” Spencer says softly, uncrossing his arms and pulling you towards him. He’s jumping backwards in the story. You know exactly what happens, but you’re confused at his choice.

“Do you want me anyhow?” You ask, raising your eyebrows.

“Yes.”

“I ask no more.”

“In that case-” Spencer trails off before wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you flush with him. One of his hands finds the side of your face, and before you can register what’s happening, you feel his lips on yours.

You lean into his warmth, throwing away any reservations you previously had. He’s being so very gentle with you. You feel a small amount of worry building in your chest when you realize how easy it’s going to be to get addicted to this feeling.

Just as quickly as he pulls you in, Spencer releases you.

“They don’t actually kiss in the play. You lose,” You joke, looking up at him. He’s staring back at you with a look of pure adoration, and it makes you want to explode.

“I’d hardly call that a loss,” He quips back.

You open your mouth to throw some half-hearted insult back at him, but you’re cut off by someone pounding on the front door. You duck behind a bookcase to hide yourself, and Spencer does the same. The two of you share an alarmed look, neither wanting to move first. Though, you’re drawn out of hiding pretty quickly when you hear a familiar female voice screaming from outside your shop.

You run to the door, unlocking it as quickly as possible. The second the door clicks open, Molly stumbles through, crashing into you and throwing you backwards. You do your best to catch her and stabilize yourself before she pulls you to the ground. You can feel her body shake as she sobs against your chest.

“Molly, what happened? Do we need to call somebody for you?” You ask, petting the top of her head gently. Spencer shoots you a questioning look, but you shake your head in response before tilting your head towards the door. He gets what you’re going for and quickly locks the door.

“He broke into my house,” Molly chokes out between sobs. You work on wiping the tears from her face, but they’re falling too fast for you to keep up.

“Who broke in, Mols? Was it Link? Are you hurt?” You throw questions at her far faster than she’s able to process. You slide backwards so your back is supported by a bookshelf, and Spencer appears beside you with a water bottle. You crack it open and offer it to Molly, but she’s too far gone to notice.

“I didn’t know what was happening. I didn’t know what to do. I don’t know why I came here,” Molly cries. You resign yourself to pulling her as close as possible in hopes of helping her to calm down. Spencer takes a seat against a bookshelf a few feet away.

Almost an hour passes before Molly calms down enough to speak. You don’t ask her any more questions, but instead let her answer when she’s ready.

“I should have called the police,” She mumbles against your chest.

“You did exactly what you were supposed to do. You got yourself out of your house, and you found somewhere you knew you’d be safe. There’s no need to be ashamed of your actions,” You say as you continue petting her head.

“I don’t even know how he got in,” She whispers.

“You don’t need to think about that. It’s just going to freak you out more. Now drink, you’re letting yourself get dehydrated, and you’re far too pretty to willingly give yourself wrinkles,” You joke while shoving the water bottle into her hand. She glares at you before taking a drink. “Did he take anything? Or did he try to hurt you?”

“I don’t know what his plan was. I bolted as soon as I heard someone in the house. When I turned around to get in my car, I saw him standing in the front window. He was watching me,” She explains. Your blood runs cold at her words.

You look over towards Spencer. You’re not sure if you’re looking for emotional support for yourself or if you just need confirmation about what you’re hearing, but the look on his face doesn’t make you feel any better.

“Molly, what’s your address?” He asks softly. You raise your eyebrows at him, but he ignores your curiosity. He pulls his phone out and begins dialing a number once she tells him her address. Spencer disappears to the back of the store, and you can hear his muffled words as he speaks to whoever is on the other end of the phone.

“Do you have anywhere to stay?” You ask her. She’s finally stopped shaking. You can see sunlight start to peek over the buildings across the street, and you make the executive decision to close the shop for the day. You’ll have to text Nick and tell him not to come in later.

“My sister lives downtown. I can stay with her for a while. I just don’t know why this had to happen,” Molly trails off.

“You’re probably never going to know. It’s better to not dig for an answer. It’ll eat you alive if you let it,” You say. You know that from personal experience.

The two of you sit in silence for a little while longer, watching the sky slowly get brighter. You’re startled by Spencer reappearing next to you. He crouches in front of Molly.

“My team is on their way to your house to see if we can find anything out. If you give me Link’s phone number, I can have one of my people trace it, and we’ll bring him in for questioning. Are you okay if we head to my office to wait?” Spencer nods to you even though his question is directed towards Molly. You nod back, pulling the both of you up from the floor. You leave Molly with Spencer momentarily while you grab your belongings from behind the counter.

Turns out your phone screen is still intact.

All three of you pile into your car after you lock up the shop. Spencer gives you directions towards his office, and you can’t ignore the building anxiety at the thought of having to enter an FBI building. You visited the US capitol when you were in high school, and the screening process to enter was intense. Now, you get to do that but this time everyone will have guns.

As it turns out, they’re really nice when you have an FBI agent in the car with you. Spencer leaves you and Molly in the parking garage temporarily before returning with visitor badges. He guides you to the elevator. You hold Molly’s hand tight, hoping to calm her and release some of your own tension.

When the elevator doors open, you’re faced with a large set of glass doors. There are only a few people milling about at this time of day, but it doesn’t make the current situation any less intimidating.


	13. Chapter 13

Molly squeezes your hand in return as you follow Spencer out of the elevator. You turn and flash her a smile, refusing to let her know how afraid you are too. You’re led through the large glass doors of Spencer’s office, and Penelope immediately bounds towards you.

How does she have so much energy right now?

“Good morning ladies! Would you guys like some coffee? We’re going to set you up in the conference room, and I can bring you anything you want,” Penelope chirps. Molly’s mood seems to lighten in Penelope’s presence. 

“I don’t want to speak for her, but I know Molly can’t function without coffee. And I’ve had a long night, so I won’t argue if you bring me some too,” You reply. You feel Molly’s hand tighten around yours again, and you turn towards her. She’s got a grateful look on her face. You’ve been in a similar situation to this, and you know how difficult it is to make yourself talk when you’re only a half-step away from a mental breakdown. 

Spencer leads you towards the conference room, and you see David Rossi seated at the table flipping through some papers. He looks up as you enter, and he rises to shake your hand. You shake his hand firmly. He greets Molly with a simple pat on her shoulder.

“The rest of the team is at your house. I figured I’d be more useful gathering information from you here. Are you okay to answer a few questions?” Dave says before taking his seat. Molly nods, and you sit down next to her. You never let go of her hand.

Molly spends the next hour answering an endless stream of questions. Penelope keeps a steady supply of coffee in your mugs, and you’re eternally thankful for her kindness. Spencer runs off about halfway through with his phone pressed to his face. You continue to support Molly, helping her to answer questions when she can’t quite form proper sentences.

You’re a little stunned when you realize how much you know about Molly. You always thought about her as just another regular in your store. Sitting next to her, helping her answer questions about her personal life, it almost feels like you’ve been best friends for years. In a way, you have been. You’ve learned so much about each other through your Monday morning conversations. 

Dave engages Molly in some more casual conversation, easing up on his interrogation about her personal life. Looking over his shoulder, you see Spencer leaning over his desk. You’ve never seen him look so stressed. You excuse yourself, leaving Molly and Dave to talk about old times while you go check on him.

“Is everything okay?” You question as you approach his desk. You seem to startle him out of whatever state he’s in. 

“Hotch is questioning Link right now. He had a gun on him,” Spencer admits. You let out a big breath. You want to turn around to check on Molly through the window, but you don’t want to accidentally alert her that something might be wrong.

“Was he going to hurt her?” You ask. You bite the inside of your lip and cross your arms over your body, trying to brace yourself for the answer you know he’s going to give.

Spencer doesn’t respond verbally, but he simply nods with a sad look on his face. 

You feel the tears well up in your eyes, but you tilt your head back and will them back into your body. You need to be the strong one right now. You’re useless if both of you are emotional messes. 

You take a moment to collect yourself before heading back into the conference room. Penelope follows shortly after, dropping off a box of muffins from a bakery not far from here. You can only pick at yours. You’re nauseous from thinking about the possibility of Molly being dead if she didn’t hear Link in her house. 

Molly is cut off mid-sentence when the rest of Spencer’s team enters the room. Everyone takes a seat around the table, leaving plenty of space around you and Molly. She grabs your hand again, and you squeeze hers to let her know you’re here for her. 

“We’ve got good news and bad news. What do you want first?” Emily asks. Molly doesn’t speak, so you choose for her.

“Bad news first,” You respond. 

“Link got into the house through one of the doors. There’s no sign of forced entry, so he has a key. Did you ever give him a key?” JJ questions.

“He used to have a key when we were dating. I made him give it back when I kicked him out, though. He put it right in my hand,” Molly says. It breaks your heart to hear how small she sounds. This woman is one of the strongest immigration advocacy lawyers in the city, and she sounds like a small child being disciplined.

“He must have taken it and had copies made. Also, he was armed when he entered your home. He hasn’t stated it explicitly, but we have reason to believe he entered your home with the intention to harm you. He’s asked for a lawyer, so there’s no way we’re getting that confession now,” Emily continues. You hear Molly start to cry next to you again. You bring your free hand up to rest on top of hers. All of the support in the world isn’t enough for her right now.

“And what’s the good news?” You ask, hoping to pull Molly back from the edge.

“We’re charging him on illegal possession of a firearm and breaking-and-entering. He’ll be off the streets for a little while, at least,” Aaron explains. You breathe a sigh of relief that Link won’t be walking out of this building alongside the two of you. 

The team continues to explain the situation for a while longer, elaborating about things in such detail that goes over your head. Molly nods and hums along. You assume she’s using her lawyer brain to break down the next several months of her life. 

Around noon, the two of you are released. Spencer walks you to the parking garage, but he has to stay to keep working.

“Where do you want to go?” You ask Molly. She’s long since cried herself out. 

“Can you take me to my sister’s apartment? I sent her a text a while ago explaining things, so she’s expecting me,” Molly replies. 

You drive in silence, and luckily you don’t get caught in any DC traffic. You drop Molly off, waving good-bye and letting yourself relax knowing she’s safe. You get back in your car and take a moment to contemplate what to do next. You don’t visit the city very often, so it feels wasteful to leave without taking the time to hang around.

You make your way to one of your favorite cafes. The lunch rush ended about an hour ago, so it’s not very full when you enter. You order your favorite sandwich and take a seat at one of the tables by the window. You spend the next hour or so people-watching while you pick at your lunch. You don’t have much of an appetite yet, but you force yourself to eat something. You’ve been awake since three this morning, and you’ve yet to eat anything substantial. 

For most of the afternoon, you find yourself meandering up and down the streets, poking your head into little boutiques and shops. You manage to find a couple of clothing items that suit your fancy, so you decide to splurge a little. 

By the time you arrive back at your apartment, it’s only five and you’re completely exhausted. You crash face-first into your bed the moment you walk through the door. Right as you feel yourself being pulled under, your phone goes off. 

There are several texts from Jesse, Nick, and Beck wondering what happened to make you close the shop today. Spencer sent you a couple updates about the case throughout the day. Molly checked in to let you know that she’s doing well at her sister’s place. You send half-hearted replies to everyone before dragging yourself back out of bed and into the shower. 

You take some time to get snuggled into your pajamas and fuzzy socks, curling up on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate. You let some cheesy drama show play on the television while you sip your drink. It’s probably not the smartest idea to drink this much sugar before bed, but you need the comfort. Spencer keeps checking on you to make sure you’re okay. You don’t have the energy to tell him that no, you’re not okay. It will trigger a long conversation about letting your feelings out and healthy coping mechanisms, and you’re just not up for that at the moment. 

You find yourself in bed before long, desperate to catch up on the missing hours of sleep from the night before. It doesn’t take long for you to give in and embrace the feeling of sleep washing over you. 

When you wake in the morning, you feel much better. The tiny inkling of a headache that was present all day yesterday is no longer there. Your body releases most of its tension after completing your big morning stretch.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that nothing happened yesterday and today’s just another Tuesday.


	14. Chapter 14

As you peel your eyes open, the weight of the blanket on your body is unbearable. You’ve spent the last couple weeks helping Molly through putting together her case, and you’d hoped that you would forget what day it is.

Unfortunately, you haven’t.

You force yourself up and out of bed. You’ll wallow there all day if allowed. Instead, you let Nick know he can have the day off so you’ll keep busy all day. You slide on your favorite pair of jeans and your softest, most snuggly sweater. You braid your hair away from your face so it doesn’t have the chance to be annoying.

You’re not able to emotionally handle any minor inconvenience at the moment. 

You arrive at the store at exactly six. You’re not in any rush to complete your opening duties since it’s a Thursday and none of your regulars ever show up until at least eight. You start the coffee maker, setting aside the largest mug for yourself. 

Around nine, Mr. Bales and his son Theo come in. They’re usually some of your favorite customers, but Theo’s energy is a little too much for you this morning. You try to stay engaged while you help him pick out a book. Like any child, he immediately notices that you’re not feeling like yourself. His father notices as well, making up an excuse for you to go back up to the register and take time for yourself. You get them cashed out with a smile, apologizing to Mr. Bales for your attitude. He gives you a little nod before dropping his change in the donation jar.

You drink far too much coffee throughout the day, and you don’t eat anything to help offset the caffeine. As you near the end of your work day, the anxiety bubbling up in your chest becomes overwhelming. 

You push through the final hours of your shift, locking the door exactly at seven. You whirl around the shop and complete your closing tasks in a matter of minutes. You grab your bag before heading out the door, turning back to lock it behind you.

As you turn back towards the street, your body freezes. 

Suddenly, you’re no longer standing on the sidewalk outside your store. Instead, you’re in downtown Traverse City, and your sister’s arm is linked with your own. You hear a thud come from behind you. You turn to see your father splayed out on the pavement, his eyes rolling back in his head. 

You know this isn’t real.

It’s a flashback.

This can’t happen twice.

You ignore the scene your brain is playing out around you and find your way to your car. Once you’re safely locked inside, you let yourself lose it. Your face is hot and wet with tears in a matter of seconds, and you immediately lose all control of your breathing. You know it’s unsafe to drive like this, so you give yourself time to come back to reality before turning your car on. 

You’re obviously not completely sane yet, because you find yourself driving to a location that is definitely not your apartment. You park on the street outside of a large, colonial-looking apartment building. Your body moves without your permission, leading you up a couple flights of stairs and to a single door. You knock twice before you lose your courage. 

You let out a deep breath when the door opens. 

Initially, Spencer looks confused. His befuddled appearance is quickly replaced by one of concern, and he immediately pulls you into a hug. You’re still holding back, not allowing yourself to truly experience your feelings, and Spencer can tell. He releases you momentarily before guiding you into his apartment.

It’s exactly what you would expect.

There are bookshelves lining almost every wall. The living room consists of a couch, a large chair, and a coffee table; no television to be found. It could be dark and foreboding if you didn’t know who occupies it. 

You shift your weight back and forth on your feet, not sure what to do next. Spencer stands by your side like he’s waiting for you to make the first move. 

You decide that your safest option is to walk around his living room and inspect the bookshelves. It’s best to occupy yourself with things you know well. There are several hundred titles ranging wildly in genre. You’re silent as you continue your self-guided tour, and you can feel Spencer’s eyes on you. 

You jump when he clears his throat.

“What are you doing here?” He asks. You don’t dare to look at him for fear that the look of pity on his face will throw you back over your emotional edge. 

“I don’t know. I’m having a bad day, and I didn’t want to go back to my apartment,” You explain. 

It’s not the whole truth, but it’s not a lie. 

Spencer doesn’t push for a better answer. You can hear him clatter around in the kitchen before the sound of running water hits your ears. He reappears moments later with two glasses of water. You take the one offered to you gladly, sipping it as you continue your deep-dive into Spencer’s reading history. He takes a seat on the couch, watching you make your way from shelf to shelf. 

“My dad died six years ago today,” You say quietly, still not turning your attention away from the shelves in front of you. 

“Are you okay?” He asks in return. 

“No.”

Your blunt response leaves him stunned. He doesn’t respond in his quick-witted yet brilliant style. You’ve made your way through all of the books, and you’re about to start back at the beginning when Spencer stops you.

“It’s okay to not be okay,” He says, and you feel one of his hands rest softly on your shoulder. You freeze, and you have to stop yourself from shrugging him off.

“I’ve been told for the past six years that what happened wasn’t my fault. Everyone says that I need to get over it. I can’t let go of the fact that my own father died underneath my hands,” You whisper. 

“I know,” He replies simply. 

You finally turn to look at him, and it takes all of your strength to not fall apart at the way he’s looking at you. There is so much pain and sadness behind his eyes; you could almost believe that he’s been through the exact same thing. You can still feel the weight of his hand on your shoulder, and it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. 

Your body moves towards his against your will. You lace your arms around his waist and hold tight. His arms find their way around your shoulders, matching your pressure.

You feel your walls cracking, and your breathing begins to shudder under the weight of trying to hold yourself together. Spencer rubs one of his thumbs back and forth on your shoulder. You try to focus on that feeling and use it to keep you sane. 

“Why are you really here?” Spencer whispers against the top of your head. You feel tears start to leave trails down your cheeks, and you know it’s only a matter of moments before your brain shuts down.

“Because I’m scared of what I’ll do if I’m alone right now,” You choke out. 

Spencer doesn’t push for more detail, instead walking you to the couch and pulling you down with him. He moves so you’re sideways in his lap, one of his arms supporting your legs and one around your back. You rest your head gently on his chest. You can barely hear the rhythm of his heartbeat over the ringing in your ears. 

The two of you sit in silence. You rub a small section of his shirt between your fingers and try to focus on the texture instead of the continuously building anxiety in your system. Spencer releases your legs and starts playing with your hair, twisting and untwisting a section around his finger. 

“How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” He asks, startling you out of your borderline catatonic state. 

“I don’t think I’ve had anything today except for coffee,” You admit. 

Instead of responding verbally, Spencer pulls out his phone. You hear him tap away at it for several moments before tossing it back on the couch. You snuggle into him as he begins to play with your hair again. 

You’re startled out of your trance when you hear a knock at the door. Spencer untangles himself from you to go greet the mystery guest. You can smell what is on the other side of the door before you see it. He returns to the couch with a large bag of Chinese food. He methodically places each container on the coffee table, setting up an array of delicacies for you to choose from. You can’t stop yourself from laughing when he turns on some classical music as background noise. 

“What? Is it a crime for me to not want us to be forced to hear each other chewing our food?” He scoffs at your reaction. 

“No, it’s just that of course you’d choose classical music. It’s just cheesy, that’s all,” You respond before returning to your meal. He gives you a funny look, but he appears to accept your answer. 

You polish off most of the food he bought, leaving only a small container of fried rice for him to keep in the fridge. You feel much better now that you’ve got actual food in your system. Spencer sits back down in his chair across from you. 

“How do you know where I live?” He asks. Your face flushes at the realization that he’s never actually told you.

“I may or may not have texted Penelope while I was panicking,” You reply, taking a sip of your drink in an attempt to hide your face. 

“I figured it was her. That, or you’re some kind of stalker,” He jokes. You can’t help but roll your eyes at him. 

“If anybody is a stalker, it’s you. You always happen to find your way to my store at the oddest of hours,” You give him a mockingly suspicious look. 

“It’s not my fault that your store has enough windows and bright lights to announce your presence to everybody within a five mile radius,” He says. You shake your head again, settling yourself back into the couch. 

“I’m sorry for showing up unannounced and invading your personal space. You were probably enjoying your time off, and I just showed up and ruined your night,” You apologize. You hear a small scoff come from Spencer, and you open your eyes to look at him.

“There’s no need to apologize to me. I’m glad you came here and didn’t go somewhere else and get yourself hurt,” He replies. 

You can’t think of a response that won’t make you sound whiny or insecure, so you opt to keep your mouth shut. Several more minutes pass, and you realize how late it’s gotten. 

“I should probably go. Thanks again for being here. I’m not sure what I would have done if you weren’t,” You lift yourself from the couch and search for your bag. Spencer lifts it from behind the chair and hands it over to you.

“You’re welcome. If you ever need me, I’m only a phone call away,” He says. You want to hug him again, but you feel like you’ve overstayed your welcome. 

Spencer walks you to the door, his hand resting gently on the small of your back. He looks like he’s going to say something as he opens the door, but no words come out. You give him a little nod and wave as you exit his apartment, finding your way back down to your car. 

You sigh deeply as you buckle your seatbelt. It takes all of your self control to not march back up to his door and ask to stay the night. 

Being held in Spencer’s arms is the safest you’ve felt in years, and you’d give anything to feel like that again.


	15. Chapter 15

The best thing about meeting Spencer’s friends is that you now have friends by proxy. The girls on his team added you to a group chat, so you get to participate in all of the nonsense that they put forward. 

One Friday afternoon, Penelope decides that you no longer have bodily autonomy and are going to go out with the team for drinks. You protest, but Emily and JJ agree to pick you up at your apartment around eight. 

Nick watches you with an amused look all afternoon. You’re never the type to go out and party, so your apprehension and confusion make for great entertainment. He encourages you to go and assures you that he can close the shop on his own. He’s worked there since just after you opened, so you know it’ll be in good hands with him.

You leave work around six to head home and get ready. The girls tell you to prepare to dance and drink until all hours of the morning, and you decide on a more edgy look than normal. 

You braid your hair back in a half-up, half-down style. You tie several tiny braids throughout your hair. It’s quite viking-esque, and it’s a good change of pace from your average style. You don’t apply much makeup. Even when going out, a full face of makeup just isn’t comfortable enough to be worth the effort. 

It’s still cold outside, being late February, so you can’t dress as skimpy as you would have in your late teens. You pull on thick tights and a high-waisted, snug black skirt. You have to dig to the back of your closet to find the only crop-top you own. It’s got long sleeves and a cute little twist detail in the front. You’re only showing a small strip of skin across your ribcage, so hopefully you’ll stay warm enough. You toss on some black ankle boots with short heels, just in case you drink more than intended. 

Emily and JJ arrive at your apartment exactly at eight, just as they said they would. You heave yourself into the back seat of Emily’s car, and they both immediately start catcalling you. You just wrinkle your nose and shake your head in response as you buckle your seatbelt. 

They drive you to some club near the city. You can hear the music while you’re still in the car outside. You feel a small flutter of anxiety as you get out of the car, but it’s quickly pushed down when JJ and Emily link their arms through yours and lead you towards the building. 

You find your way to a high-top table where Penelope is already waiting. There are four shots of who-knows-what sitting in the center of the table.

Without question, you all take your shots, wincing at the burn of your first drink of the evening. You immediately realize that you never ate dinner, so this may end poorly for you. 

The four of you stand around the table, taking another round of shots when they’re delivered to the table. You already feel slightly unsteady on your feet, so you vow to take it easy for the rest of the night. 

You jump when you feel a hand brush across your lower back. You look over your shoulder to see Spencer standing behind you with Derek following shortly behind. 

“I didn’t know you guys were coming too,” You exclaim with genuine disbelief. Spencer never struck you as the clubbing type. 

“I wasn’t planning on it. Derek all but kidnapped me from my apartment. I’m going to grab a drink, do you want anything?” Spencer asks. Derek catches your eye over Spencer’s shoulder and gives you a quizzical look. You furrow your eyebrows in return, not sure what he’s insinuating.

“I’ll just take a water, if you don’t mind? I’d like to stay vertical this evening, if possible,” You joke. Spencer nods before leaving with Derek to head to the bar. 

When you turn your attention back to the girls, they’re all staring at you with wide eyes.

“Is there finally something going on with you and Reid?” JJ asks. You shake your head in confusion.

“Not really. He’s just a good friend,” You reply. You play with the stitching at the cuff of your sleeve to diffuse some of the tension building in your chest.

“That’s not nothing. He never comes out with us. And he absolutely doesn’t touch people,” Emily explains.

Penelope is staring you down so hard it makes you want to disappear, so you decide to indulge them.

“Fine. He kissed me once. I was having a bad day, and he was trying to make me feel better. It hasn’t happened again since,” You admit. Penelope screeches at your revelation. 

“Our boy doesn’t just kiss people! He really really likes you. Do you think you two will start dating?” Penelope blurts out at an impossible speed. 

“I don’t know if that’s how he really feels about me, though. And I don’t know if I can keep up with him. You all have a stressful job, and I wouldn’t want to place any more stress on him. And he’s a genius, and I’m just me. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the thought has crossed my mind that I wouldn’t protest if he decided to throw me against a wall for a little bit, but I’m not sure he’s the type to do that,” You blabber on. That last bit is mostly the alcohol talking, and you feel a flush come over your cheeks as soon as it leaves your mouth.

Moments later, the boys return with a handful of drinks. Spencer sets your water down in front of you, and you immediately begin to drink greedily. Derek also returns with a handful of colorful drinks. There are enough for each of you. He pointedly slides one in front of you.

“I’ve already had two shots and nothing to eat. That’s probably not a good idea,” You protest. He pushes it closer and closer to you, getting it so close that the condensation leaves marks on your shirt. You roll your eyes and take a drink from the glass. Whatever it is, it’s extremely sweet and very delicious. 

The most dangerous kind of drink. 

You down your third beverage alongside the water, and you are definitely tipsy. The other three girls look much better off than you. They must do this more often. 

Before you know what’s happening, Derek grabs your hand and drags you towards the dance floor. You look back over your shoulder, not wanting to leave Spencer alone at the table, but it looks like JJ is staying behind with him. They both wave you off, telling you to go have fun. 

You lose track of time dancing. At one point, Penelope materializes with another drink in her hand for you. She’s got her hand positioned over the top of the glass, so you feel pretty comfortable taking it from her. By the time you finish off this drink, you’ve surpassed the point of just being tipsy. Derek’s hands feel burning hot against your skin. You can’t deny the fact that he’s attractive, but he’s not exactly your type.

You excuse yourself so you can go deposit your glass somewhere and run to the bathroom. JJ and Spencer are still chatting at the table when you stumble back over to it. You have to place both hands flat on the surface to keep yourself from wobbling. JJ laughs at your appearance, and Spencer looks genuinely concerned. 

“How much have you had to drink?” Spencer asks. You shrug your shoulders before laying your head down on the table. The room is spinning too much for your liking. 

“I don’t know. Penny keeps bringing me drinks, and I keep drinking them. I was getting too hot over there so I decided I should come over here,” You slur and gesture vaguely. They both go silent, and you peek over your arms at them. They share a look before turning back to you. 

“Are you okay if I take you home? I’m a little concerned that Garcia might accidentally kill you,” Spencer asks, bringing his head down level with yours. You’re very tired all of the sudden, so you just nod your head in response. 

You watch Spencer type away at his phone for a moment before coming around the table to grab you. He loops one of his arms around your waist to hold you up, and you toss your arm over his shoulder. You’re thankful for his support since the floor feels like it’s moving out from underneath you as you step forward. 

A wave of nausea washes over you when the cold winter air hits your skin. You have to squeeze your eyes shut and force the feeling back down. Spencer stops walking when he feels you tense up, but you gesture at him to keep going.

This is why you don’t drink.

He dumps you in the back of a cab, pulling himself down into the seat next to you. You shut your eyes again and lean your head against his shoulder as you’re taken to your destination. You focus on the music playing softly from the speakers to try and keep yourself awake.

When the cab stops and Spencer pulls you from the seat, you open your eyes for the first time since you left the club. You’re definitely drunk and confused, and your current surroundings aren’t helping the situation.

“This isn’t my apartment building,” You whisper as the cab drives away. 

“I didn’t feel comfortable sending you off in a taxi back to your own apartment. You can crash here for tonight, and I’ll take you home in the morning,” Spencer explains while looping his arms back around you. 

It takes far too long to climb the three flights of stairs to his apartment door, and you’re in a fit of giggles by the time you reach the top. You take a seat on the top stair while he unlocks the door. He has to use all of his body weight to pull you up from your spot, and the momentum he creates causes you to stumble through the door and into his apartment. 

In your inebriated state, you trip over your own feet and tumble into Spencer, pushing him back against the wall. Your hands find their way to his chest, and both of his hands are in the air. He uses one to push the door shut behind you, but you’re hyper focused on playing with the buttons on his shirt.

You’ve always been told that you’re a flirty drunk.

“Penelope said that you like me,” You mumble, refusing to move back from your currently compromising position. 

“Garcia says a lot of things,” Spencer quips back. You look up at him with big eyes and a pouty expression. You can feel the flush over your cheeks from the alcohol. 

“Are you saying that you don’t like me?” You ask, batting your eyelashes.

“No, I like you very much. Garcia just doesn’t know what she’s talking about sometimes,” He replies. 

Without thinking about the potential consequences of your actions, you stand on your tip-toes and press your forehead against his. You can feel his heart pounding under your hands, and all you want is for his hands to touch you somewhere. 

Everywhere.

You hear him suck in a shaky breath before his hands find their way to your shoulders, pushing you back down. He runs his hands down your arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. 

“Let’s get you in the shower and then get some sleep,” He says quietly. 

You’re not sure if he hears the whine of disappointment you let out at the loss of contact. 

He guides you to the bathroom and pushes you to have a seat on the edge of the tub before leaving momentarily. He returns with a large t-shirt, some pajama pants, and a towel. He turns the water on for you before heading for the door. 

“I’m going to take a shower in the master bathroom. I’ll be quick, so you can yell if you need anything,” He explains before shutting the door behind him. 

You rest your head in your hands, feeling the sudden onset of a headache. Another wave of nausea washes over you, and you don’t fight to keep this one down. You empty your stomach into the toilet next to you in hopes of sobering yourself back up. 

You tie your hair in a bun on top of your head, refusing the commitment of washing it right now. You jump in the shower and realize a moment too late that he set the water to cold. If throwing up didn’t bring you back to reality, this certainly does. You take a moment to wash your body before deciding that this is too exhausting. 

You dry yourself off and put on the pajamas that Spencer left for you. They’re about five sizes too big, but they’ll do. You ball the dirty towel up in your hands before heading off in search of Spencer. 

You don’t see him in the kitchen or living room, so you look around for his bedroom. The door is cracked open, and you poke your head in to look around. 

From your spot in the entryway, you can see through the cracked door into the bathroom. You can faintly hear the running water of the shower, but it’s overtaken by the ringing in your ears at the sight before you. 

You can just barely see Spencer’s bare figure standing in the shower in the reflection of the mirror. His head is resting against the shower wall, and he’s got one arm pressed up above. You can’t see his other arm, but you’ve got a pretty good idea of what he’s doing by taking in the rest of his form. He’s more flushed than you’ve ever seen him, and you can tell by the rise and fall of his chest that he’s breathing heavily. Just as you turn to walk away, you think you hear him groan your name. You swallow hard before marching back to the guest bathroom to leave your towel draped over the edge of the tub.

You plant yourself on the couch and wait for him to finish. You pick at your nails to try and give yourself something to focus on. 

Your head snaps up when you hear his bedroom door creak open. He looks much more put together. You must have a funny look on your face, because he instantly looks concerned. 

“Are you feeling okay? Can I get you anything?” He asks.

“No, I’m fine, thank you. I just feel like garbage. There’s a reason I don’t drink regularly,” You explain. You’re technically not lying. 

“Hopefully some sleep will do you good. You can take my bed, and I’ll take the couch,” He says. You open your mouth to protest, but he cuts you off. “I’m not the one who drank their body weight in alcohol on an empty stomach. You get the bed.”

You don’t bother arguing as he leads you to his bedroom. He pulls back the covers for you, and you climb in. Your mind is racing, and you barely register him turning off the lights and closing the door most of the way. 

Somehow, after everything that’s happened this evening, you’re left feeling even more confused.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Hospital, Injury, Car Crash, Minor Character Injury/Near Death Situation

One morning in early March, you see a figure leaning next to the door outside the shop as you arrive. It’s a familiar lanky boy with a couple of travel cups in his hands. 

“You know we can have coffee inside for free,” You say as you approach. You unlock the door and let him inside, following quickly behind so you can turn off the alarm. 

“Who said I brought coffee?” He asks. He hands you a cup and you take a drink. It’s hot chocolate. The same kind he brought on Christmas. You roll your eyes at him before heading over to toss your things behind the counter. 

“Why are you here this early?” You question. The beginning of his reply is cut off by the sound of your phone ringing. You furrow your eyebrows at the noise. Nobody should be calling you this early in the morning. 

You bring the phone to your ear, and your heart drops at the tone of your little sister’s voice on the other end. You have to tell her to slow down a couple times because she’s crying so hard you can’t understand her. It takes a few tries, but you eventually piece together what she’s trying to say. Your blood runs cold, and you tell her you’re on your way before ending the call. Tears instantly start falling down your face before you have a chance to stop them. 

“My mom’s been in an accident,” You choke out while you work on picking your things back up. You unlock your phone again and start looking at flights back home.

“What can I do to help?” He asks. 

“Can you drive me to the airport? I don’t trust myself to operate a car right now,” You say as you start entering your details to book a flight. 

Spencer nods and grabs your bag off of your shoulder to carry it for you. You follow him to the front of the shop, resetting the alarm and locking the door behind you. You manage to find a flight that leaves in a couple hours, so you have him drive you straight to the airport. You take a couple deep breaths and try to pull yourself together before getting back out of the car.

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do for you?” He asks again. You shake your head.

“This is going to suck, but I’ll be able to handle it. Thanks for the ride,” You say. He catches the door before you’re able to shut it all the way.

“Let me know when you land, okay?” He begs. You nod before shutting the door.

The two hours you have to wait in the airport are the longest of your life. At least when the ambulance arrived for your dad, you knew it was already over. Now, you might miss the last few hours of your mother’s life. 

When you land in Traverse City, your brother is waiting to pick you up. You didn’t have a chance to bring a suitcase, so you don’t have to wait in baggage claim before jumping in his car. You shoot a quick text to Spencer to let him know you landed safely. You drive to the hospital in silence, neither you nor Ethan wanting to speculate about what may happen next.

You almost run through the front doors of the hospital, briefly stopping at the reception desk to get a visitor’s badge. Ethan guides you up to the correct floor, escorting you to your mother’s room. Sylvie has herself draped over the bed, and you can hardly stand to look at your mother. 

You open your mouth to speak to Sylvie, but a doctor walks in right behind you to bring you up to speed. 

“You must be [y/n]. Please have a seat and we can discuss our options,” The doctor says. She gestures to the last empty chair in the room, and you perch yourself gingerly on the edge. “I’m sure your siblings told you, but your mother was in an accident. It was a single car accident near Silver Lake.”

“What was she doing all the way out there?” You look between Sylvie and Ethan, begging for either of them to have a rational explanation for what’s happened. The doctor gives you a sympathetic look before continuing her explanation. 

“We tested for a number of substances in her blood when she arrived, but nothing came back conclusive. On further examination, we did become concerned about a stroke. After running a CT scan, we’ve confirmed that your mother has suffered from a hemorrhagic stroke. We’ve been able to stop the bleeding, but at this point she’s suffered too much brain damage, and it is extremely unlikely that she will ever regain consciousness.”

You lose your breath at her final statement, doubling over in your chair. Ethan places his hand on your shoulder, but you can’t bear to look up at him. 

“Technically Ethan is the only person authorized to make decisions regarding continuation of care, but that is a conversation that the three of you need to have. We’ll give you some time to discuss amongst yourselves. Just hit the call button when you’re ready,” The doctor finishes before excusing herself. 

You want to speak, but every sound you could think to make gets caught in your throat. You sit in silence with your two siblings, slowly being driven crazy by the monotonous beeping of the machines. 

“I know what my decision is, but I’m not going to make the call without the two of you,” Ethan says quietly. You shake your head, still unable to comprehend how you got here. 

“She was fine yesterday,” You hear Sylvie whisper quietly, not even lifting her head from the bed. 

“Where’s Ron?” You ask, finally aware that your step-father is distinctly missing from the room. 

“He’s on a work trip in Germany. He’s on his way home, but he probably won’t land until tomorrow morning,” Ethan explains. 

You finally let yourself examine your mother. She’s severely bruised over most of her body. They stitched up a couple gashes on her head. She looks like a bad Halloween decoration.

“We can’t let her live like this,” You say under your breath. Ethan nods at you and finds his way to your side again, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. Sylvie’s head whips up from the bed. 

“You can’t just unplug her! She’s still alive,” Sylvie shrieks. You wince at her words. She’s the youngest, and she’s always been the most idealistic. It rips your heart out to think about how painful this is for her, but she’s also not being realistic. 

“Who’s going to take care of her? The doctor said she won’t wake up, so somebody has to stay. Are you going to move back here and give up on your dreams? Ethan is saving so many lives in Detroit; he can’t stay. Ron is called out of the country for work all of the time. Besides, she wouldn’t want to live like this. She’s so independent, she couldn’t stand to have us all waiting on her,” You bite back. There’s a fire lit behind Sylvie’s eyes, and you know this is going to turn into a screaming match in a matter of seconds. 

“That’s so like you. Just turn her off so you can run and hide again. Just like you always do,” Sylvie hisses. You feel Ethan’s arm tighten around you so you can’t walk over and get in her face. 

You rip yourself from his arms and turn on your heel to stalk out of the room. You run down the hall, putting as much distance as you can between yourself and your naive little sister. You somehow find your way out into a little courtyard. It’s freezing and there’s some mist hanging in the air, but you plant yourself on the bench anyways. 

You dial a number on your phone and place it against your ear. 

“This is the holder of all knowledge, Penelope Garcia. Speak and be heard,” Penelope’s voice chimes on the other end of the phone. You let out a dry laugh at her introduction, and she instantly picks up on the hurt in your voice. “Oh my, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“My mom’s dying,” You say bluntly. You hear her gasp a little. “I’m sorry, Penelope. We don’t really know each other very well. I’m sorry that I’m making this awkward and just dumping that on you.”

“No, it’s okay dear. I radiate happy. Most people come to me for that exact reason. Does Spencer know what’s going on?” She asks. You shake your head before realizing that she can’t see you. 

“He knows that she’s hurt. He dropped me off at the airport this morning. It’s bad, Penelope. Like, we have to pull her off of life-support bad,” You explain. You feel yourself choking up again, and you play with the hole in your jeans to distract yourself. 

“Are you the one who has to make that choice? Or does she have a living will or advance directive?” She questions.

“As far as I’m aware she never wrote anything up. It’s technically up to my older brother Ethan, since she’s not actually married to my step-dad, but he wants us all to be in agreement. He and I want to end it peacefully, but Sylvie isn’t ready to let her go,” You say. You wrinkle your nose to try and stop the tears from falling down your face. They feel like trails of fire against your cold, clammy skin. 

“Whatever decision you’re going to make will be the right one,” Penelope says. You smile at her optimism and support. “Don’t let it tear your family apart. It’s not worth it.”

“Thank you, Penelope. I guess I just needed someone unbiased to hear me out,” You admit. 

“You’re welcome. I’m sorry you’re having to go through this. It really sucks,” She states. You hum in agreement.

“It really does. And Penelope?” You ask. She makes a ‘huh’ noise on the other end of the line. “Please don’t tell Spencer. I don’t want him to worry about me.”

“You’ve got it, babe. Your secret is safe with me,” She chirps before the line goes dead. 

You march back upstairs, still very cold and quite wet. Ethan gives you a funny look, but you ignore him and walk over to Sylvie. You pull your chair up next to hers and lace your arm through her own. You lay your head on her shoulder.

“It’s not fair,” You say simply. She makes a small noise in agreement. 

You sit as still as a statue for hours, listening to Sylvie cry herself dry. You doze off a little at one point, only to be shaken awake by Ethan. 

“How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” He whispers. You look over to your sister, and Sylvie’s fallen asleep against the bed.

“Almost 24 hours,” You admit.

“Wake her up. We should head home and put something together. We’re not making any decisions without Ron here anyways,” He says. You nod before nudging Sylvie. You feel bad for bringing her back from reality, but all of you are going to be miserable once you realize how hungry you are. 

You pile into the back of Ethan’s car with Sylvie, refusing to come untangled from one-another. The drive back to your house is fairly short.

It’s strange to step into your childhood home and have it be completely dark. Usually someone is home, puttering around the kitchen or working on a project upstairs. At the moment, it’s silent. 

It’s like someone pressed pause on your life. 

You and Sylvie work on making a simple dinner. You eat on the living room floor before heading your separate ways for the evening. You think about jumping in the shower to warm yourself back up, but that requires too much energy. You slip into an old set of Sylvie’s sweatpants and an old sweatshirt from high school. 

You wiggle your way into bed, but there’s no way you’re falling asleep. You stare at the ceiling and count the glow-in-the-dark stars, the same way you used to on the night before a big test in school. 

You hear a knock on your door around eleven, startling you so much you almost fall out of bed. 

“You’ve got a visitor,” Ethan calls from the other side of the door. You pull yourself out of bed and slip some fuzzy socks onto your feet. 

“Who is it?” You ask, but Ethan’s already gone. 

You pad softly down the stairs, running through the list of people it could possibly be. Word travels fast in this town, so surely everybody knows what’s going on. You freeze on the bottom step when you see a familiar, messy mop of hair standing in your living room. 

“Spencer, what are you doing here?”


	17. Chapter 17

“Spencer, what are you doing here?” You choke out. Your brain is reeling trying to figure out how he found your childhood home. 

“Penelope told me what’s going on. I wanted to make sure you weren’t alone,” He says quietly, approaching where you’re frozen on the stairs. You flick your eyes between Spencer and Ethan, trying to comprehend the current situation. 

“You could have just called,” You sound more like you’re talking to yourself than talking to him.

“You wouldn’t have answered,” He replies. He knows you too well.

“I told her not to tell you,” You whisper. He lets out a small huff. 

“You’ve learned your lesson about her ability to keep secrets,” He says, coming to a standstill in front of you. You’ve got your arms crossed tightly in front of you. He seems to sense your slight discomfort, leaving a couple feet of distance between you. 

“How do you know where I live?” You ask. He laughs again.

“Penelope isn’t joking when she says she sees all. We try not to pry into peoples’ personal lives unless absolutely necessary. I thought this qualified,” He responds. You nod a little before turning to head back up the stairs. You hear him move to follow you. 

You shut the door behind him as he enters your bedroom. Normally you’d be embarrassed for someone to see your childhood bedroom, but your brain has gone completely numb. 

“Don’t you have work?” You continue to question him. Normal people can’t just drop everything to fly halfway across the country. 

“I told Hotch it was a family emergency. He said I can take all of the time I need,” He explains. You shake your head and press your fingers to your temples. 

“You can’t just drop everything for me. I don’t want you wasting your personal time here,” You say, finally settling on exasperation as your current emotion. 

“I’m not wasting my time. If you want me to leave, I’ll turn around and go home. I just figured you’d want the company,” He replies.

Both of you know you’re not going to tell him to leave. 

“Well, since you’re here, and I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to sleep, do you want a tour of where I grew up?” You ask. He nods a little, rocking back on his heels like he did the first day you met. Sometimes he can look like such a teenager. 

You kick him out of your bedroom while you get changed into appropriate clothes to leave the house. 

You lead him back downstairs, making a point to skip the squeaky stair halfway down the staircase. You find Sylvie’s hidden car key in the exact spot it was last time you were home. You clear your throat in an attempt to fight off the tears at the thought of how normal everything seemed a few months ago. 

You fold yourself into Sylvie’s small car, and you’d laugh at Spencer’s appearance if the mood were lighter. It’s cramped for you, so it looks like a clown car for him. 

It’s bordering on midnight and the streets are all but empty. You start by taking Spencer to one of your favorite spots as a teenager. 

The drive takes about a half hour, and a sense of calm washes over you as you pull into the parking lot. Spencer doesn’t ask any questions when you get out of the car. He follows behind you silently as you lead him down the boardwalk and into the sand. No matter how comfortable you are in DC, nothing will ever match the feeling of sticking your feet in the sand and feeling the bitter cold breeze rolling off the lake in the cooler months. 

You stand in silence for a while, your hands in your pockets and your hair whipping around you. The lake is still angry this time of year, and you watch the waves violently crash against the beach, the tide almost reaching your feet.

“Mission Point Lighthouse. My dad used to bring me here when I was little. We’d have picnics on the beach a few times a year during the off season, so there weren’t as many tourists. My mom has pictures of us standing in front of the lighthouse every year,” You explain. You’re not sure if he can hear you over the wind, but his presence is comforting enough. 

You can feel tears running down your face again, and the sensation makes you angrier than you can describe. You kick your boots off and stuff your socks into them. Rolling up the cuffs of your leggings, you step down into the water. Your skin burns as soon as it comes into contact with the freezing water, but you embrace the feeling. It’s been far too long since you’ve been in the water. 

“There’s no way that can actually feel good,” Spencer calls from behind you. 

“I learned to swim in this lake before I learned how to walk. They say it’s always a part of you, and they’re not wrong,” You reply, turning towards him so your words don’t get lost in the wind. 

“Well, I’m sure they’ll also say that you’re going to get hypothermia if you stay in there for much longer,” He says, holding his hand out towards you. You take his offer and place your hand in his. Somehow, his hands are much warmer than yours, and you don’t want to let go. 

You pull yourself together and drop his hand so you can reach down and grab your boots. You trek back to the car without shoes on, and you feel like a teenager as you start the car and begin to drive away with sandy feet. Spencer adjusts the heat so it’s blowing as hot as possible on your feet, and you’re secretly thankful. 

You drive another twenty minutes back towards the city, taking a road heading in the opposite direction than how you came in. This stretch of the drive feels entirely like second nature even though it’s been at least seven years since the last time you completed it. 

You throw the car into park in a dimly lit parking lot.

“Welcome to high school. Simultaneously the best and worst four years of my life,” You state. You feel a tug in your chest at all of the good times you had in that building. Sometimes you think you’d give everything up to go back and be as naive as you were back then. 

“You strike me as the all AP classes, band geek, theatre nerd but still friends with everybody kind of kid,” Spencer says, following your gaze towards the building. 

“You’re almost correct. I was in orchestra class, not band. And I worked on the technical theatre crew. You couldn’t pay me enough to go on stage in front of people,” You groan. Your director always tried to convince you to audition. You almost did once, but the idea of messing up in front of people made you too sick to ever do it. 

“What instrument did you play?” He asks, looking back towards you.

“Cello. Well, I started on violin and was terrible at it, so I switched to cello. Something about it just clicked. I can also play upright bass, but it never stuck quite the same,” You say wistfully. 

“That explains why you always tap your fingers together when you’re nervous. I guessed you played an instrument, but I could never pin down which one,” He looks out the window again as he speaks. Your eyes go big at his comment, and you’re glad he’s not looking at you. “What song do you tap out?”

“The Idylls of Pegasus. Roughly the first ten measures or so,” You admit. He turns back to you, clearly expecting further explanation. “It was my first solo. It’s a huge, dramatic group piece, and the first little bit is a cello solo. My teacher picked me to play it as a freshman. We won competitions with that piece.”

“You’ll have to play it for me sometime,” He replies. You shake your head and look out your window towards the football field. 

“It’s been so long since I’ve played. I could probably do it, though. I think my mom still has my old cello in our basement,” You trail off at the thought. You’re going to have to stay to clean out the house. 

You hear Spencer shift to look towards you, but you busy yourself playing with the fog your breath leaves on the glass. 

“Where to next?” He asks, sensing your discomfort. 

You shift the car back into drive and head towards the city. You’re bordering on exhausted, so you decide on one last location before heading home. Normally, downtown Traverse City is bustling. However, in the middle of the night, it’s dead silent. You pull off to the side of the road and park the car again, thankful that you don’t have to show off your lack of parallel parking skills. 

Spencer knows exactly where you are without you having to say anything.

“You don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to,” He says quietly. He places a hand gently on your leg, and your muscles contract involuntarily underneath him. 

“I know. But you wanted a tour of my childhood, and this feels pretty important,” You reply numbly. You can’t take your eyes off of a single square of pavement. You chew on the inside of your cheek as thoughts race through your brain. You don’t even realize that your mouth is filling with the taste of blood. 

“I think it’s time to go home,” Spencer whispers. You nod before guiding the car back onto the road, heading back towards your house. 

There’s an additional car in the driveway when you return, and you furrow your brow in confusion. You don’t bother putting your shoes back on before running up the front steps and into the house. 

You hear a mixture of voices coming from the living room, only furthering your confusion. You peek your head around the corner and are assaulted by a hug before you know what’s happening. 

“I’m so sorry that you’re having to go through this. If there’s anything you need, I’m here for you,” Vince says into your shoulder. Your body is frozen, and you can’t bring yourself to hug him back. 

“Thank you, Vince. What are you doing here?” You ask, peeling his body off of you. You hold him at an arm’s length while you continue to evaluate the situation. 

“I came as soon as Heather told me what happened. How are you-” He trails off as he notices Spencer over your shoulder. You shift uncomfortably in your position between the two of them. “Who’s this?”

“This is Dr. Spencer Reid, my boyfriend,” You say curtly. You feel your face flush at your words, and you know this is going to be an awkward conversation between Spencer and yourself later. “If you don’t mind, I’m absolutely exhausted, so we’re going to head to bed.”

You turn on your heels to march up the stairs. You have to stop yourself from laughing at the sight of Spencer giving an awkward little wave when Vince offers his hand to shake. 

You feel Spencer brush behind your back as you enter your bedroom, and you close and lock your door behind him. 

“So I’m your boyfriend now, huh?” He asks. His tone is light enough that you let out the breath you’re holding. At least he’s not mad. 

“I’m sorry. I way overstepped down there. That entire family just gets under my skin, and you’re the only thing I could use to one-up him. It won’t happen again,” You apologize. 

“It’s fine. I really don’t mind. It was completely worth it to see the look on his face. You can use me as your pretend boyfriend whenever you need to,” He replies. You try to hide your embarrassment by pulling a fresh set of pajamas out of your closet. You gesture for him to turn around so you can change. 

“I wasn’t kidding when I said I’m exhausted, though. Did you bring pajamas, or do you need me to grab some from Ethan?” You ask as you slide back into a pair of pajama pants. 

“I’ve got everything I need. I’ll just go get changed, and I can set up in the living room downstairs. I’d like to talk to Vince a little more, actually,” He replies. You take a deep breath before you respond, getting your words out fast enough that you don’t lose your confidence. 

“Can you stay up here with me, please? I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep if I’m alone,” You admit, walking around so you’re back in his line of vision. He scans your face to make sure you’re being serious. 

“Of course. You’re the whole reason I’m here,” He says before walking away to dig through his bag. 

You wiggle down into your bed, making a small nest out of the covers. He hits the lights before joining you, perching himself very respectfully towards the edge of the bed. You throw your hand out to find him and try to pull him closer to you. 

“I won’t freak out if you touch me, you know. I want you to be comfortable too,” You whisper. He hums a little, and you can’t quite place the meaning of it. 

Spencer does relax significantly, allowing you to curl up next to him. Your brain is still racing, and you don’t feel any closer to sleep than you were earlier. Spencer is tracing a small pattern on your upper arm with his fingertips, but eventually he slows and then stops. You hear his breathing even out and determine that he must be asleep already. 

You roll onto your back to begin counting the stars on the ceiling again. The next few days are going to be absolute hell, but you’re glad you have somebody in your corner now. You try to focus on his breathing to lull you to sleep, and you feel yourself slipping into darkness ever so slowly. Just before losing consciousness, you’re overwhelmed by a single thought. 

_You don’t want it to be pretend. ___


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Minor character death (I mean, y'all knew it was coming but still), Very indirect self-harming behaviors

You wake to the feeling of emptiness in the bed next to you. You sit up quickly, reaching out for Spencer, but he’s nowhere to be found. The door to your bedroom is cracked slightly, and the smell of coffee is wafting up around you. You hoist yourself out of bed, tying your hair back up in a slightly less messy bun. 

You pad softly down the stairs, and you can hear a cacophony of voices coming from the kitchen. Along with the coffee, you can smell waffles and bacon cooking. Glancing around the corner and into the kitchen, you spot your siblings, Spencer, and your step-father Ron all scattered around the room. Sylvie catches your eye and rushes over to you. 

“Oh no, we have to satiate the monster before she comes for us all,” She says in a spooky voice, placing a mug of coffee in your hands. You roll your eyes at her. You keep your mouth shut and drink your coffee, knowing that something mean will come out if you start talking before the caffeine kicks in. 

“What time is it?” You croak while taking a seat at the breakfast bar. 

“Nine,” Ron chimes from his place in front of the waffle maker. You don’t bother hiding your shocked expression. 

“Believe it or not, she used to be able to sleep in until one in the afternoon when we were in high school,” Ethan pipes up, aiming his comment towards Spencer. You punch him in the shoulder lightly as punishment for his betrayal. 

You take a moment to appreciate how normal everything seems. If you didn’t know any better, you’d feel like this is the picture of a normal, happy family. You don’t want to be the one to break the façade, but you’re all going to have to come back to reality at some point. 

You dig into the waffle that Ron slides in front of you. Normally you’re not one for a big breakfast, but you can’t refuse something so special. You finish it in only a few minutes, scraping your plate clean. 

“What time did your flight land, Ron?” You ask casually in an attempt to gently bring everyone back to the topic at hand. 

“Too early this morning. Ethan came to get me around five,” He explains, cleaning off the waffle maker. You’re clearly the last one to eat, and they were all waiting on you. 

“We’re going to head to the hospital in about an hour, if you want to come,” Ethan says. You look over towards Sylvie, and she gives you a sad smile. 

There must have been a conversation while you were still sleeping, and they somehow managed to talk everything through with Sylvie. 

You excuse yourself to go take a shower. You feel disgusting, not having showered for at least 36 hours. When you return to your bedroom, Spencer is seated on your bed and scrolling through his phone. 

“You don’t have to come with us,” You say as you toss your dirty clothes in the bottom of your closet. Sylvie was nice enough to lend you something pretty to wear today. The jeans and pastel cardigan are not exactly your style, but it’s better than sweatpants. 

“I’m no use to you sitting here. I’ll stay in the waiting room if you want me to, but I’m coming with you,” He stands and walks towards you. His presence is nothing short of suffocating, and you take a step back from him. He doesn’t seem offended, simply stopping where he is. You grab your purse from the back of the door and make your way downstairs. 

Ethan takes you and Spencer in his car while Ron takes Sylvie. You can’t bring yourself to talk about anything. The weight on your chest feels too heavy. If you let any air out, you might not be able to take any back in. 

You all collect your visitor’s badges at the front desk before finding your mother’s room. She looks exactly the same as the night before, a broken version of herself. You’re far too anxious to sit, and you find yourself pacing back and forth across the room. Spencer hides himself in the corner, far enough to not be intrusive but close enough to keep an eye on you. 

You feel like you can’t breathe when the doctor enters the room. Ethan and Ron explain what you all would like to do. You’re each going to take your turns saying goodbye before disconnecting her from life support. You’re glad your big brother can handle all of the talking, because there is no way those words could ever come out of your mouth. 

The decision is made for Ron and Ethan to say their goodbyes first, then you, and then Sylvie will go last. You’ve organized yourselves in order of least to most emotional so you don’t have to sit around sobbing for too long. You feel sick sitting in the waiting room while Ethan and Ron take their turns. Spencer keeps a respectful distance, and you’re not so sure if you appreciate that or not.

When Ethan returns, you almost can’t stand from your seat. Spencer reaches his hand out for you, and you take it. There’s no other way you can find the strength to break your position. 

You hesitate in the doorway of your mother’s room, debating how badly you actually want to say goodbye. 

Once you say it, it’s all over. There’s no going back. 

You hear Spencer walk away as you step through the threshold, and you turn to catch him. 

“Please don’t go far,” You beg. He nods, leaning against the nurse’s station outside of the door. 

You walk as quietly as you can to your mother’s bedside. Ever so carefully, you place yourself at the foot of the bed. You tuck one leg up underneath you, settling by her legs; just like she used to when you were sick as a kid. 

“I’m so sorry, Mom. I know there isn’t anything I could have done to stop this, but this isn’t fair. You were supposed to walk me down the aisle when I get married. And you were supposed to hold your grandbabies. You never came to visit my shop. I always kept your favorite books stashed away in case you ever showed up. You’ll never get to meet Spencer, either. There were so many things we were supposed to do together. I’m not ready,” Your voice breaks. The tears start to fall, and there’s nothing you can do to stop them. “I’m sorry that I ran away after Dad died. You needed me then, but I couldn’t handle it. I feel like this is the universe punishing me for that.”

You look towards the beeping machines next to you, watching numbers and lines flicker across the screens. You take a shuddering breath, steeling yourself as much as you possibly can. 

“Go be with Daddy now, Mumma. Tell him I say hi. Tell him I love him.”

You can’t stop the sobs that rip themselves from your chest. You collapse forward on the bed, gripping the blankets to keep yourself grounded. You flinch a little when you feel a gentle hand on your back. Spencer is whispering something to you, but you can’t hear him over the ringing in your ears. You give in to his pull, allowing him to break you away from the bed. You wrap your arm around his waist, gripping a handful of his shirt to make sure he won’t leave your side. 

You don’t want to go back to the waiting room. Sylvie doesn’t need to see you like this. You guide Spencer in the other direction and hide yourself in a corner. A nurse sees you leave the room and heads to find Sylvie. 

You slide your back down the wall, sitting in silence while you wait for the end. You hear Sylvie’s broken cries coming from your mother’s room, and it feels like your heart is being torn from your chest. You push yourself back up and enter the room. She’s draped over the bed much in the same way you were. You join her at the foot of the bed, resting your hand on her shoulder to offer as much support as possible. You hear Ethan and Ron enter the room behind you, standing a safe distance away. 

Your breath catches in your chest when the doctor enters the room. She approaches the head of the bed, tapping away at all of the machinery. You slowly slide yourself off of the bed and back away. You can’t be so close to another dying parent. You’ve seen this before, and you never wanted to see it again. 

While everyone has their attention focused elsewhere, you snag Ethan’s car key off the counter and slide it in your pocket.

You close your eyes only a moment before the machines chime at the lack of input. You hear quiet breaths escaping your mother, coming at an increasingly delayed pace. You can’t stand the sound of your family breaking apart around you, so you slip back out of the doorway. Spencer has himself positioned at the nurse’s station again, and he notices your attempt at an escape. He calls your name softly, but you don’t acknowledge him. You hustle down the stairs to the parking garage, stopping for nothing. 

Without much thought, you climb into Ethan’s car and start it up. Luckily he left his parking validation coin on the dashboard, saving you a hefty amount of money for parking. You make your way back through the city, finding your favorite hiding spot. Kelly raises her hand to wave at you through the front window of the hotel, but you blow past her and down to the shoreline. 

You kick off your shoes and throw your phone and keys along with them in the sand. You cuff your jeans and march down to the water. You’re already soaked by the rain pouring from the sky. Dipping your toes in the waves, your skin begins to burn from the cold. It almost feels like you’ve reached the dramatic climax of a novel. 

If only it were so easy. 

You slowly make your way into the water, moving only a few inches at a time. Soon enough you’re submerged up to your waist, and you can’t feel your feet anymore. Your nails are starting to have a faint tinge of blue, but you lost your ability to care a couple hours ago. You hear someone call your name from the beach. You don’t have the energy left to respond. 

“You can’t stay out there. You’re going to freeze to death. Hypothermia starts setting in in under fifteen minutes in water this cold,” Spencer calls over the sounds of the waves crashing. 

You know you’re being dramatic, but you feel yourself being ripped to pieces on the inside and you need to find something to make it stop. 

You look over your shoulder, not necessarily aiming to make eye contact, and submerge yourself. You have to fight to not inhale as the freezing water stings like a million needles against your skin. The lake isn’t too violent today, so you feel safe leaving yourself under the surface for a moment longer. You blow bubbles out of your nose, watching them rise and pop on the surface. 

You’re startled by a pair of arms hooking underneath your own, pulling you back above the water. You take in a gasping breath, easing the slight burn that started building in your lungs. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He asks, basically dragging you back to shore. You don’t fight him. 

“I think I’m trying to find a physical discomfort strong enough to override my emotions,” You reply numbly. You can hardly feel your own lips as you speak. 

You feel like you weigh a thousand pounds as you step out of the water. Your clothes are heavy against your skin, dripping water down around you. Your skin is pale and tight, a visual representation of your body’s attempt to conserve heat. You don’t notice your teeth chattering until you’re almost back to the car.

You try to wring yourself out as much as possible before jumping in the passenger seat of Ethan’s car. You’ll clean it later as an apology. 

Spencer takes the keys from you, wordlessly driving you both back to your house. It feels wrong walking through the front door knowing that it will never be the same.

Everybody else is still gone. The house is silent, and you simultaneously want to start screaming and hide yourself away where nobody can find you. You don’t get to make your own choice as Spencer begins to push you up the stairs. He guides you to the bathroom, where he shuts the door behind himself, effectively trapping the two of you in together. 

“What exactly is your plan here?” You ask, not bothering to hide the annoyance in your voice.

“To get you warmed up. If I leave you to your own devices, you’ll let yourself freeze. I like you too much to let you do that,” He replies. He’s being shorter with you than usual, and you feel a pang of guilt in your chest for how you’ve treated him today. Even if you’re sad, you don’t have the right to be a jerk. 

You startle backwards as he starts to push your cardigan off of your shoulders. You bump up against the vanity, leaving nowhere for you to go. He peels the wet fabric from your skin, and goosebumps erupt across the surface of your skin from his warm touch. 

You can’t stand to look at him, embarrassed about your previous actions and current state. 

“I don’t want to do this without your permission, but you really need to get those jeans off,” He says, hooking a finger through your belt loop. You sigh deeply as you look at him, but he looks about as embarrassed as you feel. You undo the button on your pants, slowly stripping them off of your legs. It takes more effort than you anticipated, and you end up stumbling around trying to get them off of your ankles. Spencer catches you around the waist to stabilize you, keeping his hands high enough to be respectful. 

You’re left halfway bare, standing in your underwear and tank top. Spencer leaves you to go and turn on the shower, and you stare at yourself in the mirror. 

You look like a shell of yourself. 

Your skin is dull, and your hair is beyond messy. There’s a slight blue tinge to your nails and lips, proving how cold you let yourself get. The bags under your eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen. 

You almost look dead. 

Spencer clears his throat, and you jump. The water has had a moment to heat up, so you jump right into the shower. You can’t help the scream that escapes your mouth as the warm water feels like fire engulfing your frozen skin. You slam yourself back against the wall, stepping as far away from the water as possible. It still feels like lava under your feet, but at least now it’s bearable. 

Spencer lurches from his place leaning against the counter to come over to you. You try to take calming, deep breaths, but they come out shuddery and uneven. You have to restrain yourself from stepping back into the water and causing further damage. You stare blankly at the wall, unable to make eye contact with Spencer. 

“How am I supposed to handle this?” You ask. You know your question is vague, but he seems to get what you’re going for. 

“You shouldn’t have to. You’re allowed to be weak,” He says softly. The tears start flowing again, and you’re surprised your body isn’t too dehydrated to keep crying at this point. 

You stick your fingers back under the stream of water, and you wince at the burn that spreads across your hand. 

This is going to be a long, painful process.


	19. Chapter 19

The next few days fly by as a blur. 

Spencer answers his phone and immediately looks intensely stressed. You know you’ve made his life difficult for the past handful of days, and it hurts your heart to think that he may be going through something that you don’t know about. 

“That was Penelope. We’ve got a case in Seattle, and the team needs me,” He explains. You nod from your place at the breakfast bar in the kitchen.

“Go. I’m fine here,” You say. He looks at you with slight disbelief, and you raise your eyebrows. “I’m serious. Stopping a murderer is more important than wasting your time here with me.”

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Being with you isn’t a waste of my time,” He replies. You roll your eyes at him, standing to begin pushing him towards the stairs.

You borrow Ethan’s car to take him to the airport, promising that you’ll meet him back in DC by the end of the week.

You haven’t seen Sylvie in a couple days. You heard some door slamming while you were finishing the most painful shower of your life, and you haven’t seen her since. You’ve been sliding granola bars and cookies under her door, hoping that she’s at least eating something. 

The funeral is on Friday. You can actively feel your brain shutting the experience out, not allowing it to be committed to memory. You look away as they lower her casket into the ground alongside your father’s burial site. 

You head home after the funeral to grab your already packed bags and take a taxi to the airport. You locate your old cello in the basement, telling Ethan that he can get rid of everything else. He told you a couple nights ago that he’ll handle cleaning the house out so you can go home and get back to your store. 

You nearly lose your mind at the airport arguing with one of the men at the front desk. You’d only booked a return flight for one person, not having intended to bring your cello home with you. It’s in a soft case, so you can’t check it as a bag. You need to buy it a seat so it can fly with you safely. The man is insistent that there is absolutely no way that it will fit on the plane. 

The tears begin to fall before you have a chance to stop them. 

“I’m telling you, _Chad _, I will happily pay double the price of a ticket to get this instrument on the plane with me. I don’t think you understand how serious I am,” You plead.__

__“Ma’am, I’m sure you’re completely serious. Unfortunately, there is nothing I can do to remedy the situation. You’re just going to have to leave it here and find another way to have it shipped to DC,” He replies. You blink at him slowly, encouraging one more massive tear to fall down your cheek._ _

__You hate to be dramatic, but sometimes it needs to be done._ _

__“Chad, sir, there’s nowhere for me to keep it here. I just buried my mother earlier this morning, and it lived at her house. Since she’s dead now, we have to sell the house, so this thing doesn’t have anywhere to live unless it comes back with me. So I don’t think you really understand exactly how important it is that it comes on the plane with me,” You’re trying desperately to not raise your voice, but your emotions are getting the better of you._ _

__A petite red-haired woman working a couple computers down perks her head up at your meltdown, making her way over to you._ _

__“Is everything okay over here? Is there anything I can do for you, Ma’am?” She asks in a polite, chipper voice._ _

__“I’m sorry for making a scene. I just had a loss in my family, and I need to get my cello on the plane so I can fly it home. I didn’t plan for this to happen, and I’ll pay for the seat space. I just don’t have any other options,” Your voice cracks as you make one final plea. She nods sympathetically, typing away at Chad’s computer._ _

__“Well, lucky for you, it appears that there’s one free seat on your flight, so there should be space. I’ll just charge you for half the ticket price, and I’ll let the flight crew know so they’re expecting you,” She replies._ _

__It takes every ounce of strength in your body to not break down again._ _

__You thank her profusely while she completes the appropriate paperwork, sending you with a tag to tie on the case._ _

__It’s nothing short of complicated to get through security, but you make it work. By the time you arrive at your gate, they’ve already started boarding. When you approach the man scanning the tickets, all members of the flight crew are looking at you with pity. You duck your head and walk yourself onto the plane. They take special care to store your cello at the front of the plane, padding it so it stays nice and secure._ _

__When you land back in DC, you’re more than ready to be home and in your own bed. You don’t even bother stopping by the shop to check in. You dump all of your belongings just beyond the doorway, taking special care to lean your cello in the corner of your living room._ _

__You change into a comfy set of pajamas and crash face-first into your bed, allowing your body to relax for the first time in almost two weeks._ _

__You actively choose to ignore the fact that it’s only seven in the evening._ _

__\---_ _

__You numbly complete your everyday routine for the next few weeks, keeping your head down and not allowing yourself to get too overwhelmed by your emotions. Spencer stops by the store a couple times to have coffee with you in the mornings, and you’ve never appreciated his presence more._ _

__Molly continues to visit every Monday morning, sharing some quiet time for coffee and new books. She’s still allowing you to pick out new selections for her, and it’s one of the things you look forward to most each week._ _

__It’s been a while since you’ve seen Monica come through. Since you were home for about a week, you missed reading time with her class. You paid Beck double time for having to deal with that day on his own. The following week was Spring Break for her, so it feels like an eternity before her face appears in your shop again._ _

__One Thursday evening at the end of March, Spencer surprises you by walking into the shop as you’re getting ready to close. You’ve already closed the cash drawer, and you’re heading to lock the front door when his face appears in the window. He’s got a serious look on his face, which has you worried._ _

__“What’s wrong?” You ask suspiciously, locking the door behind him. He walks past you, not acknowledging your question as he bounds up the spiral staircase. You follow him like a lost puppy._ _

__Just like he knows you will._ _

__“Are we going to play charades, or what?” You question as you take your seat across from him. He still has a blank, borderline irritated expression. You raise your eyebrows at him. He’s being weird, and you’re already over it._ _

__“Come out to dinner with me,” He says flatly. You choke back a laugh at his simple request._ _

__“Is that what this is about? You want me to go on a date with you?” You ask, rubbing at your nose to hide your smile._ _

__“We’ve been dancing around each other for six months, one week, and four days,” He replies. Even knowing what you know about him, you’re surprised at his specificity. “When I kissed you, you didn’t immediately run away from me. You let me in during one of the most emotionally vulnerable moments in your life. Let me take you out to dinner.”_ _

__“Spencer, you don’t have to try to convince me. Of course I’ll have dinner with you,” You respond. You let out a breathy laugh in an attempt to rid your body of the excess anxiety floating around._ _

__“I’ll pick you up on Saturday at seven. We’re going somewhere fancy, so wear something nice,” He says as he pushes himself out of his chair and makes his way towards the staircase._ _

__You follow a few steps behind, still confused about his current mood. You don’t continue the conversation, instead locking the door behind him after he leaves._ _

__Somehow, with only a handful of sentences, this boy has you wrapped around his finger._ _

__And now you’re left having to find yet another fancy outfit to impress him with._ _


	20. Chapter 20

The second you step through the front door of your apartment, you have a text message drafted to send to the group chat with Spencer’s female coworkers.

Less than ten seconds after you send it, you’re bombarded with a variety of responses.

‘He asked you on a DATE???’

‘Where are you guys going?’

‘I can’t believe our little genius is all grown up!’

You have to wrangle them all back to the topic at hand. He told you to wear something nice, and you have no idea what that even means. You all spend the evening speculating, and you’re left with no better answers than when you started. 

The following day drags by, and you lock up the shop promptly at eight. You tell Jesse that she and Beck are in charge of the shop tomorrow, since there’s no way you’ll be able to focus. 

Around noon on Saturday, you hear a knock at your door. You check your phone to make sure you didn’t accidentally order food and forget about it. When you swing the door open, you’re greeted by the grinning faces of JJ, Emily, and Penelope. They push past you and into your living room, draping a variety of different bags across your furniture.

“What are you doing?” You ask as Penelope drags you towards where she thinks your bathroom is.

“Our boy has decided that you’re worthy enough to actually take on a real date, and we really really like you, so we’ve decided to help you get ready for the big day,” Penelope explains. She pauses her march, looking back at you for direction. You point her towards the bathroom. 

“Guys, this is really unnecessary. It’s just a date. It’s not a big deal,” You protest. You’re already nervous enough, and this kind of treatment isn’t making that feeling any better.

“I don’t think you realize exactly how big of a deal this is. Spencer doesn’t date,” JJ says while she pulls a variety of objects out of a bag. There are a selection of dresses in different colors draped over the back of your couch. You take a moment to admire them, but the sickening level of anxiety building in your belly stops you from truly appreciating them. 

“I appreciate the gesture, but this is so overkill,” You continue your protesting. Emily shoves you down into the armchair in your living room, all but forcing you to settle down.

“Stop your complaining and let us play dress-up,” Emily snaps. You nod your head quickly and shut your mouth. 

Over the next several hours, the girls of the Behavioral Analysis Unit turn you into their personal Barbie doll. 

Penelope curls your hair, running her finger through it so the ringlets aren’t too tight. JJ works on your makeup. She gives you some classic winged eyeliner and some deep red liquid lipstick. You pull back when you see what color she chooses, but she stops you.

“Don’t worry, it doesn’t smudge. It’s my favorite. I wouldn’t do you wrong like that,” She says as she continues to paint your face. She dusts some gold highlighter over your cheekbones, finishing your look.

Emily chooses a beautiful dress for you. It’s a floor-length black dress with a very subtle gold shift when it catches the light. There are thousands of tiny metallic starbursts embroidered into the fabric. It has short, fluttery sleeves, and it cinches in at the waist to give you some shape. It’s low-cut enough to be interesting without exposing too much. Emily tosses a plain pair of black heels at you to put on. 

“I’m afraid to ask how much this dress cost,” You mutter as you check yourself out in the mirror. Overall, you look stunning. 

“I got it on sale. Don’t worry about it. I’ll come over to steal it back if I need it,” She jokes while she packs up her things. 

“We better leave before Spencer gets here. We don’t need him knowing we’re in on this,” JJ says. Penelope nods in agreement, slinging the last of her bags over her shoulder. 

“Thank you guys. I really do appreciate it,” You thank each of them.

“Don’t worry about it. We expect full details as soon as you get home,” Penelope calls before shutting the door behind them. 

It’s already six-thirty, so you’ve only got about a half hour before Spencer arrives. You spend that time pacing around your apartment, wringing your hands together in an attempt to manage your current levels of anxiety. You nearly jump out of your skin when your phone goes off, alerting you to Spencer’s arrival. 

You think you see Spencer do a double-take when he sees you, and you’re sure you’re blushing under the layer of makeup that JJ caked on your face. 

He has the passenger side door of his car open and waiting for you. He offers a hand to help you down into the seat, and you take a moment to gather the skirt of the dress into the car before he shuts the door. 

When he slides into the driver’s seat next to you, you feel like you can’t breathe. 

You haven’t been this nervous for a date in a very long time. 

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” You ask to break the silence. 

“I already told you. We’re going out to dinner,” He replies. You roll your eyes even though he’s not looking at you. 

“Well fine. Be that way,” You quip, adding a little breathy laugh so he knows you’re joking. 

The drive takes a little over a half-hour, and you spend the time listening to the music he has playing softly. He chose classical music, and you never thought you’d be more thankful. You tap out the finger patterns to the songs you’ve played before, and you hum along to the ones you’re not as familiar with. He hardly takes his eyes off the road, and you feel like you can breathe a little easier without his full attention. 

When you finally arrive at your destination, you’re nothing short of impressed. Spencer pulls his car up to the front of a bougie looking building before getting out and coming around to your door. You take the hand he offers, trying to get out of the car as gracefully as possible. He speaks with someone for a brief moment before they take his car to some unknown secondary location. 

Spencer offers you his arm and you loop your own through it. 

“You weren’t joking when you said we were going somewhere fancy,” You whisper, still looking around at everything in awe. 

“I figured I should choose a special place for a special woman,” He says, and you instinctively look away from him at the compliment. 

He leads you into the building, and you can’t stop yourself from ogling at the fancy interior. There are crystal chandeliers everywhere, and pretty much everybody is dressed in black-tie attire. You hear Spencer give his name to the host, making a point to tack his honorific onto the beginning. You’re escorted to a rather secluded table in the corner of the restaurant. You note the distinct lack of a menu when you take your seat.

“Did you use your profiling skills to guess what I want to eat?” You joke, still taking in the high-class atmosphere. 

“I may have just asked Molly what your preferences are,” He admits with a shy smile. You tilt your head as you give him a funny look, but he averts his gaze. 

“Do I make you nervous, Dr. Reid?” You ask. His eyes snap back to you at your use of his proper title. 

“We should hire you at the BAU,” He quips back, answering your question. 

“No thanks. I like my low-stress job. Plus I’m not the biggest fan of plane rides,” You say before a nicely dressed waiter approaches your table.

Spencer and the waiter have a brief conversation about wine that goes right over your head before the waiter disappears to the back. You curse the etiquette of fine-dining and the fact that there’s nothing on the table for you to fidget with. 

“Why were you nervous to ask me on a date?” You ask genuinely, trying to make it clear that you’re not poking fun at him this time.

“I may be a profiler, but there’s always the risk that I’m reading the situation wrong. There were a number of scenarios in my head where I ended up embarrassed and we would never see each other again,” He explains. 

“Well, contrary to what I may say or how I may act, I do find myself being attracted to you sometimes, Spencer,” You admit. You take a sip of the wine that the waiter set down in front of you seconds earlier, thankful that you now have something to hide behind. Spencer looks at you with some mixture of emotions that you can’t quite pick out, and you can clearly tell that he can’t think of what to say next. “What? Does a girl telling you she thinks you’re cute override your incredibly high IQ?”

“I don’t think it would be as impactful coming from any other girl,” He says, taking a sip of his own drink. This time, you’re the one left speechless. You turn your attention back to the room around you in an attempt to diffuse your anxious energy. “Do you really think I’m cute?”

“Yes. You’re adorable,” You spit out quickly before trying to shift the conversation. “Now, what are you going to force me to eat?”

Spencer clears his throat and messes with his hair before giving his answer. You must have struck something with your answer. 

“I figured pasta was pretty safe. To be completely honest, I told them to surprise me, too,” He says. 

The two of you share some quiet, surface-level conversation while waiting for your food. 

You can smell it before you see it, and your mouth is watering before it even hits the table. The waiter places a square plate in front of you, and it’s topped with a beautiful swirl of pasta. It looks simple enough, but it smells amazing. 

It tastes even better. 

There’s not much to it, but the balance of garlic and olive oil is heavenly. Your conversation stops until both of you are finished with your meals. You’re reminded why you prefer fancier restaurants. The portions are enough to be satisfying, but not so large to leave you feeling disgusting. 

Soon enough, your pasta plates are replaced with smaller plates. There are small, chocolate colored desserts on your individual plates, and you have to hold yourself back from greedily digging in. Instead, you take dainty bites, savoring every bit of chocolate that touches your tongue. 

Spencer laughs at your reaction to the dessert.

“What? Can’t a girl appreciate her dessert in peace?” You whine between bites, pausing only long enough to get the words out. 

Spencer only shakes his head in response, making the choice to not indulge in your questioning. 

All too soon, your dessert disappears from your plate. You bite back yet another whine at the loss of the delicious food. Spencer has hardly touched his dessert. 

“Did you not like it?” You ask, looking between his face and his plate.

“It’s actually pretty delicious. I just don’t have much of an appetite,” He replies. You swirl the remainder of your wine in your glass, not wanting to push him any further. 

The waiter comes to remove the last of your plates, and he leaves the check before disappearing. You reach for it, but Spencer smacks your hand away. You yelp a little before rubbing the back of your hand dramatically. 

“No, this was my idea so I’m going to pay,” He explains. You pout at him, putting on as much fake-hurt as you can. 

“At least tell me how much the bill is,” You beg. He shakes his head, slipping his credit card into the small folder before placing it back at the edge of the table. You note that this card is much thicker and more expensive looking than the one that he used the first day at your store. 

You slouch down in your seat and cross your arms over your body, sulking as much as you can. You quickly down the rest of your wine, not wanting to leave any behind and waste however much money Spencer feels the need to spend on you. 

Moments later, the waiter returns Spencer’s credit card, and you can feel the evening coming to an end as Spencer slips the card back in his wallet. You drop your sulky act as he rises from his seat and offers you his hand. You take it and lace your fingers through his. 

You’re escorted back outside where Spencer’s car is ready and waiting. You drop yourself into the passenger seat less gracefully than before. You watch as he loosens his tie slightly as he walks around the car, and you can’t take your eyes off of his hands. The ride home is full of small talk and basic stories about your lives. Spencer still seems nervous. You two typically find a way to share your traumas each time you’re together. Tonight’s been fairly tame. 

Spencer pulls into an actual parking space outside of your apartment building this time. He comes around the car to help you out of your seat, ever the gentleman. You intertwine your fingers with his yet again, not quite ready to let him go. You guide him up the stairs to your door before turning to face him. 

You can’t read the emotion on his face, and that infuriates you more than anything. He’s standing farther away from you than you’d like, so you decide to remedy the situation. 

Faster than he can process, you wrap your hand around his tie and pull his body flush with yours. You allow him to catch his breath for a moment before crashing your lips against his. You release his tie and move your hands up to his face before threading your fingers through his hair. You tug on his hair very gently, testing the waters, and you hear a quiet groan pull its way from his chest. 

You’re willing to do whatever it takes to get him to make that sound again. 

You notice that his hands are only lightly tracing against your body, so you push yourself even closer against him to get him to touch you more. He breaks away from the kiss at your movement, and you can’t stop the whine that escapes your lips at the loss of contact. You know it’s more than likely not personal, but you can’t help but feel hurt that he doesn’t want to touch you. You’ve still got your fingers laced through his hair, but he’s fighting against you pulling him towards you. 

“I’m sorry. Was that too much too fast?” You start babbling an apology as you release him, backing yourself towards your door. 

“No. Believe me, I don’t want to stop. But if I don’t stop now, I won't be able to later,” He replies. You furrow your eyebrows, still not quite following the full extent of his reasoning. You feel the few glasses of wine taking over your system, making you slightly more bold than normal.

“Are you saying that you don’t want me? Because you’ve shown me quite the opposite on a number of occasions,” You drop the pitch of your voice, moving to get into his personal space again. 

“There’s nothing more I want right now than to stay here with you. But you’ve had three full glasses of wine tonight, and I want you completely sober,” He whispers, taking on your challenge and getting in your face. 

Before your brain can process a witty response, Spencer kisses the back of your hand and disappears down the hallway. 

You’re left outside of your apartment, mouth agape at whatever the hell just happened. 

All you know is that you don’t have all the juicy details you were hoping to be able to withhold from the ladies of the BAU.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! My apologies for the lack of posting last night. Chapters may get fewer and further between for the next month or so. I just bought a house, and we're doing some pretty major renovations, so I haven't had any time to sit down and write. I've got the next 3 or so chapters written up, so I'll try and space those out over the next week while I try to get more written. I'm still loving this pairing, so I don't intend on ending this any time soon. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

‘ _What do you mean he just left you outside your door???_ ’

‘ _Is he a good kisser, at least?_ ’

‘ _Remind me to smack some sense into him on Monday._ ’

You laugh at the range of responses the girls have to your completely tame recollection of your date. At first you’re a little hurt that he didn’t come inside with you, but your heart warms at the thought that he doesn’t want you intoxicated at all.

You wake the next morning with a splitting headache, somehow ending up hungover from the three glasses of wine you consumed the night before. You text Beck to ask if he can cover the store on his own today, and he’s more than happy to oblige. You don’t normally open until nine, and you close at seven, so Sundays aren’t too bad. You shoot another text to the girls inviting them out to brunch, but Penelope lets you know that the team’s been called out on a case. You send a quick message to Spencer telling him to be safe.

You putter around your apartment for the day, completing the basic cleaning and organizing tasks that you’ve been putting off for the past few weeks. While mindlessly scrolling through your phone, you check your email to find an invitation for the largest book resale event of the year. You quickly book a ticket and begin looking for hotels. It’s not for a few months, but this is an event that you have to be over-prepared for. You usually end up carting several hundred books home in the back of your car. It’s your biggest yearly stock-up of unique books for the store.

You spend the rest of the evening lazing around your apartment, folding the last of your laundry and watching some mindless television. You rarely allow yourself a full day off to do absolutely nothing, and it’s quite refreshing. It’s not until you’re in the shower that you realize you haven’t heard back from Spencer at all. You check your phone when you get out of the shower, and the message is delivered and it appears that he’s read it, but there’s no response.

It must be a busy case.

You don’t know much about exactly what he does, but it definitely seems very stressful and time consuming. You don’t think much about it before you head to bed, bundling yourself up for a peaceful night of sleep.

The following morning, you make it to the shop just before six, giving yourself time to complete the opening tasks before Molly shows up. She walks through the door at exactly quarter past six like she always does. She pours herself some coffee before heading up to the loft.

“What do we want today, Molly?” You call up the stairs. She’s silent for a moment, undoubtedly contemplating her decisions.

“Thriller!” She yells back. It’s a very vague guideline, but you have something in mind. You run to the thriller section, easily finding the book you’re thinking of. You run her card before heading up to the loft, presenting her with your choice.

“ _Still Missing_ by Chevy Stevens. The writing occasionally leaves a bit to be desired, but the plot is absolutely amazing. Also, don’t read this while you’re home alone at night. Lunch breaks only,” You explain as you slide the book over to her. She reads the description on the back, nodding approvingly.

You leave her to her devices while you head back downstairs to finish your opening duties. A few non-regular patrons pass through in the morning, but it’s an overall quiet day. You’re able to lock up right at eight, hurling yourself into your car before driving home.

You don’t check your phone until you step into your apartment. You typically don’t have time to check it throughout the day, and you know better than to sit in your car and scroll. You notice that you have a single missed call and a voicemail from Spencer. It’s a little curious, given that he typically texts you, but you bring your phone to your ear to listen to whatever he has to say.

“ _Hey, it’s me. Um, this case is bad. Really, really bad,_ ” You furrow your brow at his simple word choice. He sounds genuinely scared, and it almost doesn’t even sound like him at all. “ _We’re headed in to make this arrest, but I have a really bad feeling about this. We’ve already lost a couple of local officers on this case, and we’re probably going to lose a few more before this is all over. I just wanted to call you so you didn’t think I was ignoring you. And I wanted you to have something to hold on to in case I don’t make it back. I really like you, and this isn’t how I want this to end. I don’t want to be the reason that you’re in pain again. I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you, and I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure your heart isn’t broken again._ ”

The phone goes silent, and you can’t breathe. Your face is covered in tears, and at some point you sink down to the floor with your back against the wall.

This is the exact reason you didn’t want to get close to him.

The voicemail was sent an hour ago, and nothing else has come through since then. You rattle off a few texts, praying for a reply.

‘ _I got your voicemail. Did everything go well?_ ’

‘ _Are you okay?_ ’

‘ _Spencer, please answer me._ ’

‘ _Please don’t do this to me. I can’t lose you too._ ’

You take deep, shuddering breaths in an attempt to make your head stop spinning. You dial a familiar phone number, hoping that someone will answer on the other end.

“Penelope Garcia,” You hear a friendly voice say on the other end. She doesn’t use one of her fun greetings, so you know something’s wrong.

“Are they all dead?” You ask quietly, your voice cracking half-way through.

“I haven’t heard anything for the past hour. We were talking before they went in to make the arrest, and they haven’t called back since. They’re an amazing team. I’m sure they’re okay,” She says. It doesn’t sound like she’s convinced.

“What happened, Penelope?” You continue to question, using her voice to ground you.

“We found the unsub, but not before he found us. Everyone is pretty sure they’re walking into a trap, but there wasn’t any other choice. A girl’s life is at risk, so they’re doing what they have to do,” She explains. You nod along, knowing that this is just a part of his job.

It doesn’t make it any easier.

“He left me a voicemail in case he dies. So I have something left of him,” You whisper.

“I know. They don’t have any service where they’re at, so I helped him patch it through to your phone. That boy is so in love with you,” Penelope says wistfully. You don’t know if that makes you feel better or worse. You hear her gasp at a loud noise on her end. “Oh my- I have to go. I’ll call you in a little bit.”

“Penelope, wait! What’s going on?” You screech into your phone, pushing yourself up so you’re standing again. It’s too late.

She’s already gone.

You pace around the living room, trying to figure out what to do next. You can’t just sit around and wait, but it’s not like you have any other viable options. You rack your brain trying to figure out where they went so you can look up news stories coming out of that area. You settle for turning on the television and checking the main news channels.

You get lucky on your first try, but what you see makes you want to vomit. They’re showing helicopter footage of a warehouse that’s up in flames. There’s a little replay showing in the bottom corner, showing an explosion going off over and over again. You can hardly hear the news anchor over the ringing in your ears.

“There’s been an explosion in a warehouse in Tampa tonight. The Tampa Police Department called the FBI for help in catching a serial killer responsible for the deaths of over fifteen women. Reports say that they located the killer’s hideout, but an explosion went off before an arrest was made. Several officers were in the building at the time of the blast, but the exact number of fatalities is unknown at this time.”

You immediately turn the TV off. You swallow hard to force the rising bile back down your throat.

You have no clue what to do with yourself, so you opt to sit in the shower for the foreseeable future. You sit yourself on the floor, turning the water almost as hot as it can go. It burns against your skin, but it’s the best distraction you can think of at the moment. You sit there for a little over an hour before the water can no longer hold its temperature. After drying yourself off, you throw on some sweatpants and a hoodie before curling up on the couch.

You send Penelope a few quick texts, but she doesn’t respond. You can’t do much more than stare at the wall blankly. You know you’re not going to be able to sleep, so there’s no point to stressing yourself out from trying too hard. You send a message to your group text, hoping somebody has access and is able to respond to you. Nothing comes through. You stopped crying a while ago, opting to be numb instead of overly emotional.

Around midnight, there’s a knock at your door. You hesitate for a moment, but the knock comes again, more insistent this time. You slowly walk to the door, trying to be as quiet as possible. They knock for a third time, all but pounding on the door. You click open the lock, cracking the door open only a little to peek through.

Your knees almost collapse underneath you as you stare at a bruised Spencer Reid standing on the other side.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My fingers slipped and now this fic is rated explicit. 
> 
> Whoops. 
> 
> ;)

“Are you okay?” You whisper, barely able to get the words out. Spencer doesn’t respond verbally, only by nodding, and you can see tears welled up in his eyes. You pull him through the door and into your apartment, gripping him tight around the waist. 

You’re not convinced you’ll be able to let him go. 

Spencer wraps his arms equally as tight around your shoulders, and the two of you stand in this position for longer than you’d care to admit. His face is pressed into your hair, and you can feel him shaking. You run your hands gently up and down his back in an attempt to calm him. You take big, deep breaths to try and encourage him to follow suit. 

After an embarrassingly long amount of time, you break away from him and take a step back so you can actually look him over.

He looks beyond tired, the bags under his eyes darker than you’ve ever seen them. He’s bruised up, but you don’t see any stitches or blood anywhere. He’s got a particularly bad bruise on the right side of his face over his cheekbone. You touch it gently, rubbing your thumb across it.

“Hey, we match,” You whisper. He brings his hand up to touch the tiny scar on the side of your face from when your shop was robbed. 

Spencer seems to calm a little under your touch, so you feel comfortable taking another step back from him. He looks so hurt and small, almost childlike. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You ask again. He shakes his head a little, wrinkling his nose. You’ve used that trick before. He’s trying to stop himself from crying. 

“It was almost really bad. We lost some of the local police in the blast. The team is mostly okay. Some needed stitches, but everyone’s alive. I thought we were going to die in there. It’s not the first time I’ve almost died, but this felt different. I felt like I had something to lose this time,” He explains. His voice is so quiet and crackly. It sounds like he’s been crying for a while. 

You tuck away that little tidbit about almost dying in the past. It doesn’t feel right to ask about that right now. 

“Well you didn’t die. You’re right here with me. You’re okay. You’re safe now,” You coo, running your fingers through his hair. “Do you need anything? Food? A drink? A shower?”

He simply shakes his head in response, pulling you back towards him. He buries his face in your neck, and you feel goosebumps emerge at the feeling of his breath dancing across your skin. You use the hand you have laced through his hair to gently pull him back, forcing him to look at you. 

You press your lips to his delicately, testing the waters. You’re surprised at his response, pulling you closer and bringing your bodies flush with one another. He deepens the kiss, bringing his hand to your face and kissing you with an almost bruising force. He slides his other hand under your sweatshirt and rests it against your lower back, his cold hand meeting your warm skin. The chill makes you press against him even harder, and you can feel a bulge in his pants pressing against your hip. You do your best to grind against him, eliciting a tiny whine from him, but you can’t get any good friction from your current position. 

He turns his attention from your mouth to your neck, pressing wet kisses against any skin he can find. Your fingers find their way under his untucked shirt, brushing across the soft skin of his hips. He breaks away from you for a moment, looking you up and down. 

“Are you sure?” He asks. His voice is incredibly deep and gravely, and you wish he would keep talking.

“Spencer Reid, if you don’t touch me right now I might actually start crying again,” You breathe. A small smile plays at his lips before he pulls your face back up towards his. 

His hands work their way back down your body. They find their home tucked under your sweatshirt, sitting high on your waist and his thumbs rubbing across the bottom of your ribcage. You twist his hair up in your fingers again, giving a gentle tug. He lets out a choked groan before pushing his body against yours more insistently. His grip on your waist is borderline painful, but you just might lose it if he lets go. 

“I’m going to be completely honest here; I have no clue what I’m doing,” He admits between pants, trying to regain his breath. 

“It’s a good thing there’s no right answer then, huh?” You smirk back up at him. He pauses to take in the sight of you, and you take the opportunity to leave a trail of kisses down his jawline and neck. A breathy gasp escapes his mouth when you pass over a certain spot, and you file that information away for later. “I guess that begs the question, are you sure about this?”

You feel him shudder slightly as you whisper in his ear. He’s still got a solid grip on your waist, so you’re pretty sure he’s not going anywhere, but it doesn’t hurt to ask. 

“I may not know what I’m doing, but I know that I want you,” He mutters back against your lips. His words trigger a faint warmth inside of you.

Now that you have his permission, you decide that both of you are wearing too many layers of clothing. You push Spencer’s jacket off of his shoulders and drape it over the back of the couch. Overall, he looks incredibly disheveled, and you want to eat him whole. 

Reminiscent of your date a couple of nights ago, you wrap his tie around your hand to draw him towards you. Your lips find his yet again, and you begin to walk backwards slowly. Step by step, you make your way towards your bedroom. You can feel the tension rise in Spencer’s body the closer you get, so you plant kisses all over his face to help him relax.

When you back through the doorway of your bedroom, Spencer pauses. He leans his arms on either side of the door frame, his body occupying the entire space. He looks you up and down, and you can feel the nervousness radiating off of him.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I won’t be upset,” You say softly, bringing one hand to his face. He closes his eyes and leans into your touch. 

“I just don’t want to disappoint you,” He mumbles. You trace your thumb over his cheek, feeling his stubble scratch against your fingertips. 

“There is nothing you could do that will ever disappoint me. I’m just happy to be here with you, regardless of what we may or may not be doing,” You reply. You’re nervous as well, but your heart sinks at the thought that this incredibly brilliant human doesn’t think he’s good enough for you. 

You know that no matter how long this conversation lasts, he’s not going to enter your bedroom until you invite him in. You step backwards, leaving far too much space between the two of you. In one fluid motion, you pull your sweatshirt off over your head. You’re still fairly well clothed in your bralette and leggings, but it works as an invitation. 

It’s hard for him to think you don’t want him while you’re actively undressing yourself. 

“I promise I’m not lying to you. If this is as naked as I get, then so be it. You can undress me as much or as little as you want,” You offer. You’ve got your hands raised slightly as a mock surrender. You lower yourself to perch on your bed, giving him space to do whatever he wants. 

Spencer finally accepts your offer and enters your bedroom, slowly approaching you. You lean back on your hands, letting him take control. You squeak in surprise when he drops to his knees, grabbing you by the backs of your legs and pulling you against him. You brace yourself on his shoulders so you don’t slip off the edge of the bed. He snakes one arm around your waist to ensure as much contact as possible, and his touch is the definition of comfort. 

Spencer starts placing kisses and lovebites across your collarbone, appreciating the better access now that your sweatshirt isn’t in the way. You swallow a whine when he bites down particularly hard. 

That one’s definitely going to leave a mark. 

Your hands find their way back to his hair, and you ground yourself by twirling some small pieces around your fingers. You can’t stop the breathy gasp that leaves your lungs when he bites down on the joint between your neck and shoulder. He smirks against your skin, and you have to resist the urge to smack him upside the head for his cockiness. 

“You seem awful confident for someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing,” You breathe. He bites down on that spot again, and you dig your nails into his clothed shoulder. He places a gentle kiss over it before pulling back to look at you. 

“Well you’re not exactly subtle about the things you like,” He replies. You let a look of fake hurt pass over your face, but you can’t stop an embarrassed blush from accompanying it. The fire that flickered to life earlier begins to grow when his fingers toy at the waistband of your leggings. “May I?”

“Of course. You can do whatever you would like. There are very few things I would ever stop you from doing,” You bring his face back to yours, deciding that you’ve been too far from each other for too long. 

Your lips barely brush against his before you’re knocked backwards, bouncing against the mattress. You’d be impressed with Spencer’s agility and skill in getting your leggings off if you weren’t distracted by the weight of his body on top of yours. In a single moment, it feels like all of the stress and anxiety in your life melts away. 

As cliché as it sounds, being this close to Spencer feels like coming home for the first time.

Your sentimentality is cut short by the sharpness of another love bite, this time under your jawline. You inhale sharply, pressing your body fully against Spencer’s. You ghost your hands down his sides, playing with the hem of his shirt. You feel him tense against you, stilling his movements for a brief moment. You open your mouth to begin another statement about how you can stop if he feels uncomfortable, but he cuts you off before the words leave your mouth.   
“I don’t want to stop. I’ve just- Never had somebody see me like this before. That’s all,” He mutters. If you could see his face, you’re sure he’d be blushing furiously. 

“Is it okay if I change that?” You question. He’s made it more than clear that he’s enjoying himself, but you’d hate to push it too far and make him uncomfortable. 

You feel him nod against your shoulder. You push on one of his shoulders to encourage him to flip over. Once he understands what you want, you gesture for him to sit with his back against the headboard. You straddle his lap, and he suddenly looks like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. You move his hands so they’re settled on your hips again. 

“You can touch me. I promise you won’t break me,” You whisper to him with your hands still covering on his.

When you feel him relax slightly, your fingers begin to work on his tie. You loosen it enough to pull over his head, tossing it to the corner of your bedroom for you to find later. You start unbuttoning his shirt from the top down. You feel his fingers tapping gently on your hips. You pause your movements when you realize what he’s doing. 

“So you listened to the Idylls of Pegasus?” You question. He was tapping out the melody of your favorite orchestral piece, and you have to stop tears from flooding your vision at the implications of that. He averts his gaze, turning his head towards the wall. Your hand leaves his shirt to grab his jaw, turning his face back towards you. “I find it very flattering and endearing that you listened to it after I told you how special it was to me. Thank you.”

The movement of his fingers against your skin has stopped, and you wish that you could get him to start again. He’s still avoiding eye contact, so you drop the issue. 

You continue to unbutton his shirt, pushing it off of his shoulders after reaching the bottom. Before he has a chance to react, you take his undershirt off as well, leaving him completely topless. You notice some scars across his chest and arms, but you don’t stop to stare. Your curiosity isn’t more important than his confidence. 

“Spencer, I’m going to ask you a question, and I want you to know that my opinion of you won’t change regardless of your answer. Okay?” You say, bringing your hand up to his neck and playing with a lock of hair at his hairline. A look of panic crosses his face, so you try to keep yours as neutral as possible. “Have you ever done this before?”

With how things have progressed, you think his answer really could go either way. You just want to make sure you’re not rushing him. 

“Yes, but only a couple times. And it was always quick. Mostly just to get it over with, you know?” He babbles on quickly. You stop him by pressing a deep, gentle kiss to his lips. He rocks his hips up against yours, and you grind down against him in response. You can feel the vibrations of his moans underneath your fingers. When you break away from him, you only leave about an inch of space between the two of you.

“Well I’m not going to let you rush through this. Is that okay?” You’re genuinely fine either way. You just hope that he doesn’t feel the need for this to be over quickly. 

“I’ll stay here forever if you let me,” He mumbles back at you. You close your eyes and lean your forehead against his. 

This boy is going to be the death of you.

While you’re busy collecting yourself from the feeling of instantaneously falling more in love with this person than you thought possible, you don’t notice him drifting his fingers up and under the edge of your bralette. It’s not until he begins unhooking it that you catch on to him. When the last hook is undone, you move your shoulders so it falls forward, tossing it into the abyss to be with Spencer’s discarded tie. 

You can tell that he’s avoiding looking at your mostly naked body. His eyes dart around the room, though his thumbs are tracing the skin of your ribcage just under your breasts. You bring your mouth back to his jawline, making a point to press your body completely against his. A beautiful groan leaves his mouth, though you’re not sure if it’s about the love bite or the feeling of your bodies pressing together. 

Before you have a chance to register his movement, Spencer pushes you backwards and places his body over yours yet again. Your hands immediately find the waist of his pants, but you don’t dare to make a move before he does. 

As if he’s reading your mind, Spencer grinds his hips against your thigh that he has trapped between his own legs. You take that as permission to undo the button on his pants, pushing them as far down his hips as you can from your current position. He breaks away long enough to shimmy out of them fully, and you don’t bother to hide the fact that you’re checking him out. He notices your admiration, and he turns his face away from you.

“Sorry, I know I’m not much to look at. My personal favorite nickname is ‘pipe cleaner with eyes’,” He rambles, still not making eye contact. You knock one of his arms out from underneath him, causing the majority of his body weight to fall on top of you. You hook your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders, effectively caging him in. 

“Spencer Reid, you are one of the most beautiful humans I’ve ever met. You don’t need to be bashful around me,” You all but purr in his ear. He doesn’t respond. Instead, he begins to place feather light kisses down your jaw and neck, working his way down your body. 

You cover your mouth to muffle an oncoming moan when his mouth finds its way to one of your breasts. One of Spencer’s hands finds your wrist, snapping it back down against the bed. You meet his eyes briefly, and a wave of warmth passes through your body at the look of pure hunger in his eyes. He’s made his point clear, so you don’t bother trying to swallow down the moans that follow. 

Spencer sucks on one of your nipples gently before letting it go and blowing a stream of cool air over it. You arch your back off of the bed in an attempt to chase the heat of his mouth, but he has your hips pinned down pretty well by his own. As he continues his affections on your other breast, you settle for digging your nails into his shoulder. 

As you leave little half-moon indentations against his perfectly smooth skin, he groans against you and grinds his hips against yours. You can feel exactly how hard he is, and a feeling of pride wells up in your lower belly. 

An involuntary gasp leaves your body as you feel Spencer’s hand dip down into your panties, lightly tracing over your burning hot center. Throwing away any insecurities about sounding too needy, you push your hips up against him to seek out more friction. You feel Spencer laugh as he kisses his way down your belly. 

Spencer dips his fingers gently inside of you, and you roll your hips to match his movements. You’ve noticed his hands before, and you’ve always thought them to be one of his most attractive features, but you’ve forced yourself to avoid thinking about how perfect his fingers would feel inside of you. 

Now, you wish you hadn’t. Because you’re right. 

The slow drag of his fingers against your slick walls is absolutely delicious, and you want to stay like this forever. You use your arm to cover your mouth, muffling the embarrassing string of noises falling from your lips, before remembering Spencer’s previous actions. You drop your arm to let him hear how perfect he is and how much you want him. You allow your eyes to flutter open and look back at him. He’s got his dark eyes laser focused on your face, watching how you react to each change in movement. 

While you have no issues staying in this position forever, you feel guilty that you are getting all of the attention. You place your hand on Spencer’s wrist, forcing him to remove his hand from you. You bring it up to your mouth, sucking the taste of yourself off of his fingers. Maybe it’s a bit too much, but by the look of Spencer’s eyes almost rolling back in his head, you’re confident that this won’t scare him away. 

You wiggle yourself out from underneath him, sitting on your knees, face-to-face. You give his shoulder a little shove, and he takes his place back against the headboard. You hook your fingers under the waistband of his boxers, looking up to him for permission. He nods his head almost imperceptibly, and you slide the final piece of fabric down his legs. A look of, what appears to be, relief passes over his face as you toss them towards the corner of the room.

Spencer is impossibly hard, already leaking a couple beads of precum, so you know you won’t have much time to really play with him before he’s too far gone. You wrap your fingers around him gently, and he bucks up into your touch. Your eyes meet his, and he looks like he’s ripping at the seams. 

“Is this okay?” You ask, dragging your hand slowly up and down his length. 

“Yes. I just- fuck,” He chokes out. He squeezes his eyes closed, letting his head fall back against the headboard. He pushes up against your touch again as you pass your thumb over his tip. “I’ve never really done this part before.”

“Really? I would think that all of the officers you work with would drop to their knees for a taste of Dr. Spencer Reid,” You punctuate your statement by licking a thin stripe from the base of his shaft all the way to the tip. You notice a shift in his energy when you use his honorific, so you file that away to play with at a later date. 

You wrap your lips around the tip of his cock, and the sound that leaves his mouth is nothing short of sinful. His fingers lace into your hair, tugging just hard enough to sting, but you lean into his touch. You only get a few good passes in before you feel his abdominal muscles start to tighten under one of your hands. You pull off of him, wiping an invisible trail of saliva from the corners of your mouth. 

You take your seat in his lap, feeling his hard length pressing against your still-clothed center. You capture his lips in a crushing kiss, groaning as he rolls his hips up against yours. He wraps a long arm around your waist, rolling so that you’re on your back. He loops his fingers through your panties, pulling them down your legs. You allow your legs to fall open, inviting him in. 

Even though you both know that you’re nowhere near ready to stop, Spencer begins to hesitate again. You bring your hand to the back of his neck, pulling his forehead down to meet yours.

“Is everything okay up there?” You ask quietly, your lips barely brushing against his. 

“I’ve never been so worried about pleasing somebody,” He admits. You press a chaste kiss against his mouth before pulling back a little to look in his eyes. 

“You don’t need to worry about anything. I promise that I’m enjoying myself. I want you to enjoy yourself, too,” You stroke the side of his face as you speak. 

“Do you want me to wear a condom or anything?” He asks. He sounds so vulnerable, and you wish you could brush all of his insecurities away. 

“Well, I don’t have any here. So unless you brought one, we’re out of luck. I’m on birth control for uterus problems. I’ve been tested, and I haven’t been sexually active for at least a couple years, so I’m okay going without if you are,” You explain. You cringe a little as you expose how long you’ve been alone, but it makes this feel all the more special. He drops his head to your shoulder, and you can feel him contemplating all of the life choices that have led him to this point. 

Before he loses his last shred of confidence, you line him up with your center, encouraging him to continue. With a pace so slow you want to scream, Spencer pushes himself inside of you. You inhale sharply at the pressure, and you have to force yourself to relax. Spencer groans deeply in your ear, and you want to record that sound so you can play it on repeat. He pauses once he’s bottomed out, giving you a chance to adjust. You bear down a little, sighing deeply at the feeling of being so full. 

You give a small nod so he knows he’s safe to proceed. Slowly and smoothly, he pulls himself out before pushing back in. The drag of him inside of you surpasses any feeling of pleasure you’ve experienced up to this point. 

“Fuck, Spencer-” You breathe, cutting yourself off with a moan when he thrusts again. Your words work as some sort of encouragement, causing him to pick up his pace. His movements have you reduced to a pile of moans and whines, your hands scrabbling to find purchase on your bedsheets. 

Spencer continues at a fairly slow pace, enjoying the push and pull of your bodies together. He drops down so your bodies are flush, catching your lips with his own. You swallow down his moans as you bear down on one of his thrusts. The change in tightness snaps something within him, causing him to thrust even harder. He props himself up slightly, one of his arms snaking between your bodies. With surprisingly skilled precision, he rubs small circles around your clit, causing your vision to go white. Your back arches off the bed in an attempt to chase the feeling. 

“Spencer. Fuck, please-” You can’t get a complete sentence out, but he seems to get what you’re going for. He continues his movements where you want him most, keeping a steady pace. The slow burning heat in your belly begins to swell quickly, and you know you’re almost done for. 

For somebody without a ton of experience, Spencer knows exactly how to make you come undone. He keeps the pressure against your clit even, thrusting at an impossibly controlled pace. In less than a minute, he’s got you teetering at the edge. 

With one particularly deep thrust, he pushes you over, and your vision goes white again as your orgasm crashes over you in waves. Your back arches off the bed, chasing any sort of contact you can find. You feel yourself contracting rhythmically around him, and his thrusting stutters for a moment. Once your brain clears, you register the fact that Spencer can’t seem to regain any sort of rhythm, so he must be close too. 

You reach up to pull his face towards yours, resting your sweaty forehead against his. 

“Just let yourself enjoy it. Please,” You say in your sweetest voice. It must do the trick, because Spencer’s thrusts begin to stutter even more. 

A beautiful moan falls from his lips as he seats himself deep within you. You can feel his warmth spread inside of you, and you stroke his hair as he rides out his own orgasm. He mutters incoherent words against your shoulder, and you can hear your name mixed in alongside them. After a moment, his hips still, and you’re left panting together on the bed. 

You whine when he pulls out of you, missing his warmth already. You’re not ready for this to end. You don’t notice him leave the room, but you startle at the feeling of a warm, wet rag cleaning you up. His movements seem borderline mechanical, and you worry that he’s already regretting this. You prop yourself up on your elbows to look down at him.

“That is easily the best sex I’ve ever had,” You tell him. It’s the honest truth, but it helps to boost his ego too. He seems focused on cleaning you up, and his mind is clearly elsewhere. “Okay, what’s up?”

He’s startled by the briskness of your voice, and he finally stops moving. 

“I don’t want this to be a one time thing,” He admits. You can’t stop the laugh that escapes your mouth. 

“What makes you think I wouldn’t want to do this again?” You question. 

“I don’t know. You thought I had died, so when I showed up here emotions were running high. Your hormones took over, and when they get back to normal this won’t seem so appealing,” He explains. You slide yourself off the bed, joining him where he’s crouched on the floor. He takes a seat next to you with his back against the bed. 

“Spencer. I can’t tell you how furious I was after our date a couple nights ago. I wanted nothing more than for you to follow me into this apartment and fuck me against the wall. And I know you wanted the same thing. I saw you in the bathroom after our night at the club,” You reveal the small secret you’ve been keeping for well over a month now. You see a blush creep across his cheeks. 

“I’m sorry about that. It was so inappropriate, and I should-” He starts. You cut him off by crawling into his lap and pressing a hard kiss against his lips. 

“You are so sorely mistaken if you think that I won’t happily do this again,” You mumble against his mouth when you break away from the kiss. You feel him smile slightly against your lips, and he relaxes against you. “Now, I’m exhausted from being worried about you all night. You’re going to stay here, right?”

Spencer nods against your forehead, and you pull yourself out of his lap. The two of you putter around, getting cleaned up and putting on clean pajamas. You crawl into bed together, pulling his body tight against yours. 

You’ll be damned if you ever let this boy go again.


	23. Chapter 23

Spencer immediately gets called on a case in the morning. 

The next couple of weeks are filled with fleeting touches and longing texts. You don’t get to spend more than five minutes at a time together between his cases and your work schedule. Jesse is home dealing with a family emergency, so you can’t just leave the shop whenever you want. 

Monica Benson, your favorite elementary school teacher, keeps you occupied with special orders and weekly reading time. You’re on the third book in the _Gregor the Overlander _series, and you’re worried you won’t be able to finish all five books before the school year is over. You don’t want to rush the kids, but you also don’t want them to leave the series unfinished.__

__Molly doesn’t come around as often anymore. Link didn’t get put in jail like the two of you had hoped. There was nothing presented during the trial that could prove intent, so he only got probation for breaking and entering. He even legally had possession of the gun. She does, however, win her case for a restraining order. Even so, she still feels nervous keeping to a routine, just in case he finds her. Instead, the two of you bounce between several coffee shops to keep things random. It’s quiet on Monday mornings now, and you hate that this is how things need to be._ _

__One fateful Saturday afternoon, you get a text from Spencer. His case is wrapping up sooner than expected, so he’ll be home this evening. You basically drop to your knees and beg Beck to close the shop without you. He agrees, but not before laughing at your absolute desperation._ _

__You rush home to clean your apartment, shooting a text back to Spencer telling him to come over when he lands. Your apartment is positively spotless by five, and you finish cooking dinner by seven. Shortly after, you hear a knock at your door. You rush over, unlocking it and breathing a sigh of relief at the sight of Spencer standing before you, all in one piece._ _

__You know it’s his job, and you would never ask him to change, but you still get worried whenever he’s gone. He’s assured you time and time again that most cases aren’t that dangerous, but it doesn’t make you feel any better._ _

__You watch as his eyes rake up and down your body, clothed in a snug red dress and black heels. Sometimes you only put on a certain dress with the intention of someone else taking it back off._ _

__You move to escort Spencer inside, taking his bag off of his shoulder to place it gently on the couch. You have a rule that he’s not allowed to wear his gun in your apartment. When he comes home from a case, he tucks it in his bag, out of your line of sight. You know that you have to be gentle with his bag, just to be safe._ _

__You excitedly pull out a chair for him at the table, encouraging him to take a seat. As he walks over to your over-the-top setup, you notice that he’s putting off a weird energy. He hasn’t said much, and you’d have expected him to be on your level after finally getting to spend some time together. You serve him a plate of the steak and potatoes you expertly prepared, and he hardly digs into it. You drop your silverware, taking a pointed sip of your drink, staring him down._ _

__He doesn’t catch on._ _

__“What’s wrong? Did something happen? Are you suddenly vegetarian?” You question, trying not to let the full force of your annoyance break through. You worked hard on this meal, and you wanted this night to be special. He took care of the last date, so you were hoping this one would be equally as fun. He sighs deeply, sitting back in his chair and looking at you._ _

__“I’m sorry, I’m just tired. And I feel like there are things that we need to talk about,” He says. Your heart drops at his words. Those are never good words._ _

__“What’s going on in that brain of yours?” You sit up straighter, shoving down every negative feeling._ _

__“Do you want to be exclusive?” He asks. You choke a little on the bite of steak you just put in your mouth._ _

__So that’s what this is about._ _

__“I would prefer it that way. I don’t love the idea of having to share with someone else,” You admit. When Vince was away at college, you always felt like second best. You never want to feel that way again. “And you?”_ _

__“I feel the same. And it’s not like I have anybody throwing themselves at my feet anyways,” He answers. You raise your eyebrows at his response, since clearly he has at least one person wrapped around his finger. “A few weeks ago, you said there are very few things you’d ever stop me from doing with you. Care to elaborate?”_ _

__You push your plate towards the middle of the table. There’s no way you’ll be able to make it through this conversation without choking._ _

__“Well, I prefer that bodily fluids remain in their respective bodies. You already know that I don’t like guns. And those full-body latex suit things really creep me out,” You respond honestly. He sputters on his drink, raising his eyebrows at you. “What? You asked what I don’t like. That is pretty high on the list. What about you, Dr. Reid? Got any good kinks I should know about?”_ _

__Spencer’s tongue darts out to lick his lips at your use of his proper title. That’s something you’ll have to play with later._ _

__“I asked what you don’t like. I’m not about to sit over here and expose myself to you,” You accidentally cut him off by bursting into laughter at his choice of words. This conversation is already bordering on ridiculous, and he’s not making it any better. “Besides, we’re pretty much on the same page. Bodily fluids are off limits, for the most part at least. I see enough guns at work that I don’t feel the need to bring them into the bedroom. I don’t think I have any hard limits beyond that.”_ _

__“Oh, I totally forgot one. Under no circumstance will I ever call you ‘Daddy’,” You say, leaning forward on your elbows. Spencer’s face goes entirely red in under a second._ _

__“I would never expect you to,” He replies._ _

__You consider the implications of his response. He would never expect it. But it doesn’t mean he wouldn’t like it._ _

__“Would you ever open a joint bank account with a partner?” He asks. You scoff at his obvious attempt to shift the conversation. You indulge him anyways._ _

__“Absolutely not. I’m fine with an account that both parties put money into for bills, but my money from work will always be deposited directly into my account. I’ll never give someone the opportunity to manipulate me financially,” You reply. Everyone in your life is always surprised about your strong stance on this particular subject._ _

__“Well someone has some trust issues,” Spencer says offhandedly._ _

__“Damn straight,” You respond, standing up to begin clearing the table._ _

__Spencer stands to help you clean up. You get the dishwasher loaded and turned on before wiping down the counters and table. You move together in comforting silence, working well as a team. You can tell that there are more questions that he wants to ask, but he doesn’t speak again until you do._ _

__“Do you want to stay over and watch a movie? Or we can just sit on the couch and read some books?” You offer. He agrees to a movie, and you leave him in the living room to pick something out while you change into something more comfortable._ _

__You return in a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt. You throw your hair into a messy bun on top of your head._ _

__Spencer looks like you’ve caused his brain to short circuit._ _

__You flop down on the couch beside him, tangling your limbs with his. He clearly didn’t put any thought into his movie choice, so you end up watching a cheesy Hallmark Christmas movie despite it being mid-April._ _

__You don’t realize that you’ve dozed off until the credits start rolling. Spencer’s arms are still wrapped around you, and you don’t want to move. He clearly knows that you’re awake, but he doesn’t try to move either._ _

__Instead, you sit with your limbs intertwined, simply enjoying each other’s company._ _


	24. Chapter 24

Due to the embarrassingly limited number of relationships you have, your phone is typically pretty quiet. 

That’s why when you receive a text at two in the morning, you’re pulled from a dead sleep. 

You smack around on your nightstand in an attempt to find your phone, blinking away the bleariness in your eyes so you can read clearly. It’s a simple message, but nothing has ever made you move faster than the five words on the screen.

‘Can you please come over?’

You pull yourself out from underneath your covers, debating how much real clothing you should put on. You settle for a pair of joggers and a thin sweatshirt. It’s late April at this point, so it’s almost warm enough that you don’t need long sleeves to go outside. You shove your phone, keys, and wallet in your pocket, opting to leave everything else behind.

You arrive at Spencer’s front door in record time. You realize while ascending the stairs that you never texted him back letting him know that yes, indeed, you can come over. 

You knock twice, and you hear the lock click open only seconds later.

“Is everything okay?” You ask. The words barely have time to leave your lips before you’re pulled through the door into an almost suffocating embrace. You squeeze back, not knowing where this overwhelming affection is coming from. You don’t hear any sniffling, and you don’t feel his body shaking, so it can’t be anything too bad. 

“I had a dream,” He says, his words muffled by your shoulder. He doesn’t make a move to release you.

“Yes, dear, humans have those sometimes,” You joke in an attempt to lighten the mood. He doesn’t laugh. You have to use an alarmingly large amount of force to separate his body from yours, pushing him back so you can look at him. The dark circles under his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen, and his cheeks are sunken in. 

Spencer’s been away on back to back cases for a couple weeks, and you haven’t seen each other in at least as long. You worry that he hasn’t been taking care of himself. He’s made passing references to old bad habits, but you’ve never pushed very far. You want him to offer up that information rather than try to force it out of him. 

You reach one hand up to touch the side of his face, and his skin feels clammy. You brush some of his hair back behind his ear, and he leans into your touch. 

“Are you okay?” You ask quietly. He nods, but it’s an obvious lie. “How long have you been home?”

“We got in around four today,” He replies. He keeps his eyes closed and his cheek pressed into your palm. 

“When was the last time you ate?” You press. You’ve heard from the girls that he’s notoriously bad about eating while a case is still active. 

“Just before we got on the plane,” He says. You don’t buy it. 

“Coffee doesn’t count. When was the last time you had a real meal?” You’re going to get an honest answer even if you die trying. 

“I don’t know. The last precinct we were at brought us bagels. I think that was this morning, but it could have been yesterday,” He finally admits. You let out a deep sigh, and you hope it doesn’t come off as exasperated or judgmental. 

“You can’t go so long without eating. You don’t have much of anything to lose in the first place,” You say, pressing your body against his. You don’t want him thinking that you don’t appreciate how he looks. You just don’t want him withering away to nothing. 

Spencer doesn’t acknowledge your comment. He’s hardly moved since he pulled you through the door. You look over his shoulder at the living room, and it’s in an uncharacteristically messy state. These past few cases must have been rough.

“Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to get you showered and clean. You’ll feel much better with the inch of grime washed off. After that, I’m going to cook you some real food, and you’re going to eat it. Then we’re going to crawl into bed, I’m going to turn your phone off, and we’re going to sleep for a reasonable amount of time. Do you think you can handle that?” You explain. He nods again, not wasting energy on words. 

You escort Spencer into his own master bathroom, leaving him leaning against the counter. You grab the biggest, fluffiest towels you can find and lay them out on the counter. You turn on the shower, heating the water just enough to put off some steam. The mirror begins to fog as you take your place back in front of Spencer, and he makes no move to get himself ready to shower. 

“We can do this one of two ways. You can cooperate and get these filthy clothes off, or I can push you in with them still on. The latter is going to make this whole process significantly more difficult. Make a good choice, please,” You sound like you’re talking to a child, but sometimes that’s the most effective method of communication when you’re out of it. 

Your fingers find the hem of his old t-shirt, and even the skin on his abdomen feels cold. You debate leaving him again to find a thermometer, but you’re afraid he’ll make a break for it the second you turn your back. You pull up on his shirt, and he raises his arms to make it easier to get it off.

He’s made the right choice. 

You have to jump a little to get it over his head, but it’s a simple enough process. His pants are much easier. He’s clad only in a pair of pajama pants, and you remove them in a matter of seconds. He steps out of them, and his face begins to flush. You ignore his misplaced embarrassment and remove your own sweatshirt so he’s not the only naked person in the room. You step out of your sweatpants as well, leaving the two of you on an equal playing field. You slip his boxers down his legs before removing your own sports bra and underwear.

You grab his hand and gently tug him towards the shower, and he follows without hesitation. You position him under the stream of warm water, beginning the process of cleaning him off. He pushes his now-wet hair back out of his face. The gesture would be incredibly sexy if not for the weight of emotion hanging in the air. 

You take stock of the supplies in his shower, and it’s nothing less than what you’d expect from him. There are single bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. Nothing else. You tap the bottle of shampoo on your hand before clicking it open. 

“Now, I can do this with you standing, but it’ll be so much easier if you’re on my level,” You explain with your back turned to him. 

A pulse of adrenaline courses through your veins when you turn around to see Spencer on his knees in front of you. You shove down every ounce of desire that floods your body, and you begin working the shampoo through his hair. His hands settle on your hips to help keep his balance, and you work hard to keep the shampoo from running into his eyes. You place a single finger under his chin to tilt his head back, and he obeys. You repeat the process with the conditioner, this time leaving it to soak in while you grab the body wash.

The body wash smells like cinnamon and apples, and you curse the fact that he doesn’t invest in higher quality products that hold their scent. He always smells nice, but this scent is one of your favorites. 

You lather up his entire body, working from his shoulders to his fingertips. He has his eyes on you the entire time, but you refuse to meet his gaze. You know you’ll break the second your eyes meet his.

Once the body wash is rinsed off, you push your fingers through his hair to work the conditioner out. When his hair feels sufficiently rinsed, he shakes his hair out, akin to that of a dog after a bath. You chuckle at his even more disheveled look, but you’re cut off when he flips you around so you’re under the water. He takes some body wash in his hands, working it into your skin. His fingers work smoothly, pressing and lingering a little longer than you did.

After a minute of lathering you up, he wraps his arms around your waist and drops his mouth to your neck. 

It kills you inside, but you push him away.

“Uh-uh. We are not going to use sex as a coping mechanism,” Your words come out a little strained and nowhere near as strong as you want, but he gets your point. You rinse yourself off and shut off the water. 

He steps out of the shower ahead of you, wrapping a towel around his waist. He turns back to you, placing the second towel around your shoulders. He steps through the threshold, back into his bedroom, and you’re left to collect yourself in the bathroom. You wrinkle your nose as you pick your clothes up off of the floor. You don’t love the idea of putting dirty clothes back on, but you didn’t exactly come prepared. 

You’re assaulted by a piece of fabric flying through the doorway. When you shake it out, you see that it’s one of Spencer’s sleep shirts. It’s not very oversized on you, given his slender form, but it’ll do.

When you emerge from the bathroom, Spencer is clad in a fresh set of pajamas. You grab his hand and escort him back to the living room, leaving him in the only chair that isn’t covered in stuff. He stays where you put him while you examine his kitchen, taking stock of the distinct lack of groceries. He has a couple frozen meals, so you decide that heating those up is better than nothing.

You return to him moments later, and he’s hardly moved from the position that you left him in. You place the heated meal in his lap, taking special care to wrap his fingers around the fork you’ve supplied. He gives you a look for your overbearing nature, but you choose to ignore him. Instead, you take a seat on the floor and dig into your own frozen dinner. You ate at your apartment last night like a normal human, but Spencer seems to learn best by following the example of others. 

You sit in silence while you eat, finishing your meal in a matter of minutes. You collect his garbage and take it back to the kitchen. You dispose of everything to the best of your abilities with the current state of his apartment.

That mess will have to wait until tomorrow. 

Spencer is looking over his shoulder towards you when you come back around the corner. He rises from his seat on his own accord, taking your face in his hands. He places a gentle kiss on your lips, and you do your best to keep it short. You don’t want to get his hopes up for anything happening tonight. He’s not in the mental state for that, and you just don’t have the energy. 

This time, he’s the one to lead you back to the bedroom. He flicks off all of the lights on the way, leaving the room with a dim glow from his bedside lamp. He turns down the covers, leaving a nest for you in the middle of the bed. You climb in first, and he follows shortly after. He still feels cold and clammy, and you make a note to check on that in the morning. 

For now, you intertwine your legs with his, locking him in place. He has a single arm around your shoulders, and your head rests gently on his chest. You can hear his heart beating, and you clock his heart rate as slightly faster than it should be. You trace patterns on his chest with your fingertips, mirroring what he has done to you on a number of occasions. 

Before long, you hear his breathing settle down. You’re not far behind him, allowing your body to relax and fall into the comforting darkness of sleep with your best friend by your side.


	25. Chapter 25

You wake to the feeling of Spencer’s arm draped over your waist. Your back is flush with his chest, and his gentle breath is tickling the hairs on the back of your neck. From the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, you guess that he’s still asleep. You want to reach out for your phone to check what time it is, but you don’t want to risk waking him.

As if solely to prove you wrong, you feel Spencer’s arm tighten around you and pull you further into him. You play along and roll your hips back slightly, and you can’t tell if he’s experiencing a case of morning wood or if he’s actually putting effort into this. Either way, he groans at your movement, placing a soft kiss to the back of your neck. 

You attempt to roll over and face him, but Spencer’s hands hold you firmly in place. With a tight grip on your hips, he pulls you against him again. He rests his forehead against your shoulder, moaning quietly. 

Spencer is hardly ever the type of person to express what he wants, so having him show his desire so overtly leaves you breathless. 

You bite your lip at the feeling of Spencer’s hand trailing up your side. You fight the urge to grind back against him again, using the little bit of autonomy that you do have to tease him. His hand snakes under your shirt, his fingertips tracing lightly against your skin. You can’t help the small gasp that escapes you when he drags his nails over your ribcage. He doesn’t put much pressure behind it, but it’s enough to cause you to rub your thighs together. 

You’re caught off guard yet again as his hand finds its way even further up your body, barely ghosting over one of your nipples. They’re already hard at the feeling of his feather light touch, and you let out a choked noise when he starts applying more pressure. His movements are languid, but the drag of his callused skin against the soft expanse of your chest leaves you wanting more. 

You can’t quite figure out what to do with your own hands, so you settle on trying to find purchase on whatever you can. One hand finds a grip on the sheets in front of you, allowing you to ground yourself in the moment. The other snakes behind in search of Spencer. You find his leg, balling up his pajama pants in your tight fist. You’re hoping to be able to tease him, but the current angle leaves you completely helpless. 

You let out a surprised squeak as Spencer pinches one of your nipples, rolling the bud between his fingers. The feeling shoots electricity down your body, triggering a familiar heat to begin building in your belly. Spencer laughs against your skin, not bothering to break away from kissing your neck. You’re quickly realizing that you’re at his mercy, so you may as well go along with it. 

As punishment for his teasing, you push your hips backwards against his lightly. It’s enough to where he can feel you, but it’s nowhere near pleasurable. His hand leaves your chest and grips your hip tight enough to leave a bruise. He thrusts forward, chasing the friction that he so clearly desires. You feel a soft growl reverberate throughout your back, and you’re not sure whether you want to try your hand at teasing him again. The idea of Spencer coming unhinged is both exhilarating and terrifying. Either way, you’re left seeking your own source of friction again. 

Sensing your miniscule movements, Spencer’s hand pushes you down against the bed, preventing you from finding any relief. You whine at the restriction, but he doesn’t relent. You wish you could roll over to see the look on his face, but you know that you’re not the one in charge here. 

After a moment of punishment, Spencer releases you. Your freedom is only temporary, though, as Spencer pins you against his own body, snaking his hand into your panties. You don’t bother to hide the moan that rips from your chest as his long fingers begin to rub slow circles around your clit. You try to roll your hips down against his hand, but Spencer stops. When you still, he resumes his mission. 

This just isn’t fair. 

You allow him to continue his deliciously slow assault on your body. You know that you can stop this whenever you want to take control, but you’re not sure that you want to. Spencer is always the most polite gentleman, and it’s refreshing for him to want to be so in control. 

Mere minutes later, Spencer has reduced you to a writhing mess. Your brain has fully turned off, and you can’t utter anything other than his name and various expletives. You feel like a rubber band is being pulled tight inside of you, and your breathing continues to become shallower the tighter it gets. 

Just as you think you’re going to tip over the edge, Spencer removes his hand. 

You don’t take any time to process what you’re doing before you flip over, straddling Spencer’s body with surprising grace. You’re seated high up on his abdomen, pinning his arms down with your knees. He’s got a stupid smirk on his face, and you’re ready to kill him. 

“Spencer, I don’t think you realize how much I want to strangle you right now,” You growl, placing your hands on the edge of his bed frame to stabilize yourself. He tries to move his hands out from underneath you, but you apply more pressure with your knees. 

“I think I might have a small idea,” He chuckles. Your ability to process his humor is clouded by the primal ferocity that he’s somehow managed to trigger.

You slide down his body slightly, stopping just above his hips. 

If you can’t get what you want, he can’t either. 

Even though his hands are free, the look you’re giving him tells him loud and clear that he shouldn’t move them.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that you actually want me to,” You whisper, leaning your body down against his so your breath ghosts over his lips. 

“Who’s to say that I don’t,” He whispers back. You pull back from him, searching for signs that he’s joking. His expression remains dead serious. You lower yourself down to him again, brushing your lips against his. You glide one of your hands down the side of his neck, applying only the lightest amount of pressure before pulling away completely and sitting up straight. He chases the feeling, and the heat that began to dissipate in your belly comes back full force. 

“I think that’s something we need to have a bigger conversation about,” You say, pulling your shirt over your head to indicate that you’re nowhere near done with the current scenario even though you’re choosing to not pursue his sudden interests. His eyes rake up and down your body, and his hands settle on your hips. 

You reach down to pull his shirt off, discarding it across the room. He sits up so his chest is flush with yours, and you suddenly realize how warm he is. His skin is almost burning. You open your mouth to comment on it, but his mouth captures yours in a searing kiss. Any thought of something being wrong is whisked away by the needy press of his hips. You continue to slide down his body, forcefully breaking him away from you. You catch his pajama pants on the way down, leaving him entirely naked beneath you. You rid yourself your panties, leaving you on an equal playing field. 

Spencer is incredibly hard, and you want nothing more than to help relieve him. You wrap your fingers delicately around him, but his hand reaches out to stop you. 

“Don’t bother. I just want the real thing,” He chokes out. 

You’re not going to argue with that. 

You line yourself up over him, sinking down ever so slowly. You wait a moment before moving after bottoming out, and it feels like Spencer is ready to explode underneath you. When you start moving, you set a tantalizingly slow pace. You watch as his face twists into an expression that borders somewhere along the lines of pain and pleasure. 

He dug his own grave when he decided to tease you earlier. 

You can’t take your eyes off of his face while you continue to raise and lower yourself along his length. The drag of him inside of you scratches an itch that you didn’t know you had, but watching him come unraveled is so much better. His mouth is hanging open slightly, and quiet, choked moans are steadily falling from his lips. You wish you could record this moment to play it back when you’re alone. 

Something must have snapped inside of him, because he suddenly decides that it’s his turn to be in charge once more. His hands grab your hips, pulling you down hard against his pelvis. He thrusts up into you at a borderline painful pace, and you have to grab the headboard again to keep yourself stable. 

Somewhere along the line, Spencer moves one of his hands so he can thumb at your clit. You can feel your thighs beginning to cramp, but you’re too busy chasing your high to notice. 

In all of his infinite wisdom, Spencer already knows your body and what it needs. He keeps a steady pace, helping you build towards your inevitable end. In a matter of moments, you feel yourself tipping over the edge, the rubber band in your belly snapping. You squeeze your eyes shut as you ride out your orgasm, feeling yourself flutter around Spencer. He clearly feels it too, as his pace begins to stutter. He continues to thrust inside of you for a handful of seconds before finding his own release.

You hate that this is the moment where Spencer looks the most beautiful. He’s got a sheen of sweat over his entire body, and he’s looking up at you like you’re his whole world. 

But you can’t exactly take a picture of this and frame it on your wall. 

You two sit interlocked for a moment longer before you bite the bullet and roll yourself off of him. You feel disgusting, but you’re not ready to wash the remnants of him off of you quite yet. Instead, you look over towards him. He still looks absolutely exhausted, and he’s paler than normal. 

“You need to take your temperature,” You say bluntly. He scoffs at you, averting his gaze, but you grab his chin to make him look at you. “I’m serious. You felt clammy last night, and now you’re really hot. I think you’re getting sick.”

“It won’t be an accurate read if I take it right now,” He pleads. You roll your eyes and push off of the bed, making your way to the bathroom. 

You take a moment to clean yourself up before looking for a thermometer. It’s easy enough to find in his well organized bathroom. He looks defeated when you return, but he also looks like he’s been hit by a bus, so you don’t care. 

Spencer complies when you threaten to force the thermometer in a less savory place. After 30 seconds, it beeps and lights up red. He has a fever of 101.5. 

“Spencer. You can’t feel very good right now. I feel like garbage if I’m at 99. Do you have any Tylenol? Or soup? Or an ice pack? What can I get you to help you feel better?” You question. It’s his turn to roll his eyes at you. 

You ignore him in lieu of going to raid his medicine cabinet again. You furrow your eyebrows at his distinct lack of anything useful. You feel like he’d be the type of person to be over prepared. 

“Where do you keep your Tylenol? Or are you an Ibuprofen type of person? Either way, we need to get something in your system to get that fever down,” You call from the bathroom. He doesn’t respond, so you peek your head out of the doorway. 

“I don’t take medicine,” He states. You give him a look, but he is dead serious. 

“Not even anything for when you’re sick?” You ask. 

“I said I don’t take any medication. Can you just drop it?” He snaps. You duck back into the bathroom so he can’t see the tears begin to build in your eyes at his harsh words. There’s something more to it, but he clearly doesn’t want to talk about it. 

“Fine. Whatever. Do you have an ice pack or something? I’m not going to let you boil to death over there,” You say as you toss your sleep shirt back over your head. You make your way to the kitchen without waiting for a reply. 

You groan audibly when you look at the time. It’s only 5:30 in the morning. You’ve hardly had a chance to sleep at all. 

You raid his freezer, but you don’t find anything useful. You settle for a bag of peas, since something is better than nothing. 

When you return to the bedroom, Spencer is sitting up with his back against the headboard. He put some pants on, and you’re eternally grateful.

It’s hard to be upset with your boyfriend when he’s naked in front of you. 

You throw the peas at him, and he looks baffled.

“Hold them to the back of your neck. It’ll help to cool you down. How long have you been feeling sick?” You prod. You’d rather slip into doctor mode than let your hurt feelings fester. 

“About the past day or so,” He answers, holding the bag against his neck. You see him shiver, and you know the fever is getting to him. “I’m sorry for snapping at you. You didn’t know, and it was unfair of me to be mean to you.”

“It’s fine. All men are weird about something or other. I just want you to feel better,” You say, taking a seat at the end of the bed. Another shiver wracks his body, and you hate that you don’t know how to help him. Tylenol fixes everything. 

He can tell that you’re still upset. An apology helps, but it can’t fix hurt feelings immediately. 

You putter around the room, collecting all of the spare blankets you can find. He looks even more confused when you begin to wrap him up in them. 

“I thought you said we were trying to bring my temperature down?” He asks. 

“Well if I can’t bring it down, I might as well help it. The bag of peas can only do so much. Take a nap with all of these blankets. It should help raise your body temperature just enough for the fever to break,” You explain. He gives you an incredulous look.

“That’s not really how that-” He starts, but you cut him off. 

“Do you want me to leave you here alone to feel like a pile of garbage? Or do you want my help?” It’s your turn to snap. He retreats back into the nest of blankets you’ve made for him looking like a kicked puppy. It’s childish for you to snap at him, but you’re trying to help and he’s being difficult. 

You curl yourself up next to him, sacrificing all of your blankets to help him feel better. You don’t understand why he’s being difficult, but you’ll stay here by his side until he’s well again. It just may take longer than usual to get there.


	26. Chapter 26

It only takes 48 hours for your own fever to set in. As it turns out, it’s really easy to contract somebody else’s illness when you make out with them. You convince Spencer to go to the doctor after the second day of his unrelenting fever. He comes back with a prescription for antibiotics for some off-handed infection. You groan when you realize that you should probably go get some medication for yourself. Antibiotics make you feel even worse, so you’re not keen on the idea of having to take them for two weeks. 

You and Spencer decide to hole up in his apartment together for the duration of your respective illnesses. If you’re going to be sick, at least you get to be sick together. 

Before the full force of your own illness hits, you manage to clean up the main spaces of his home. The two of you manage to get all of his laundry done, and you appreciate your much larger supply of sleep shirts. 

You feel bad asking Jesse, Nick, and Beck to cover for you, but it’s clear that whatever you have is contagious. They manage to work it out amongst themselves, and you set it up to have lunch delivered for them each day that you’re gone. It’s the least you can do as an apology for being gone so much lately. 

Spencer discovers that the closest grocery store will deliver to his house, so you fill up a cart with a mixture of health and comfort foods to have left outside the front door. You take it upon yourself to reorganize his kitchen, and it looks more full than you’ve ever seen it. 

About a day after your fever really hits, Spencer’s phone begins to chime in the late afternoon. He picks it up and chats with whoever is on the other end for no more than thirty seconds. After he hangs up, he moves to walk towards his bedroom, and you look at him incredulously. 

“You don’t honestly think you’re okay to go out on a case right now?” You ask, getting up to follow him but refusing to leave behind your large, fluffy blanket. 

“They need me. I feel fine,” He answers. 

You stand in his doorway to block his exit. You untuck your phone from the blanket, dialing a phone number you didn’t think you’d ever have to use. 

“Hi, Agent Hotchner? I’m here with Spencer, and he failed to mention that he’s been running a fever of over 101 for the past 3 days, and he’s hardly healthy enough to go to work. Whatever he has is also contagious. I can attest to that,” You explain. Spencer looks like he’s ready to kill you, but you simply raise your eyebrows in response. You’re barely listening to his boss on the other end, only briefly catching him telling you to tell Spencer to stay home. “Thank you, sir. I’ll pass that along. I can help him set up to work from home. Stay safe out there.”

Spencer throws his bag back on the floor, coldly brushing past you and back to the living room. He flops down on the couch, pulling out a book and flipping through it impossibly fast. 

“Hey. Don’t be like that. You’re sick, and you need to stay home to get better. You don’t need to be out there with any kind of distraction. I just don’t want you getting hurt,” You say, gracefully taking a seat in his lap, all while you’re still wrapped in your blanket burrito. 

“I know. It just feels like my brain goes mushy if I don’t use it for too long,” He replies. He has a dark purple shadow under his eyes when he looks up at you. He still won’t take anything for the fever, but the antibiotics at least seem to be helping. 

You, on the other hand, have been taking medications to keep your fever at bay. Overall, you don’t feel too terrible. 

You adjust yourself so you’re straddling his lap, and he looks up at you, very obviously confused. You fluff up your blanket so it’s wrapped around both of you, leaving you in a cocoon that is almost too warm. Your lips meet his, kissing him gingerly, and he chases the feeling when you pull away. 

“Can I help you feel like your brain isn’t turning to mush?” You ask, peppering a handful of kisses down the side of his neck. Usually you’re not one for physical contact when you don’t feel well. However, when you’re left alone with someone this attractive for this long, you can’t help yourself. 

Spencer’s breathing hitches when you pass over where his shoulder and neck meet, and you nip lightly at the spot. His book is quickly discarded, his hands finding the backs of your thighs to pull you closer to him. You can feel him start to harden underneath you, and you continue your attack on his neck. 

“See, the issue is that my brain always feels like mush when you’re around,” He says with a breathy tone. It’s hard not to get addicted to the feeling of causing him to unravel beneath you. 

Spencer’s hands knead at the flesh on the backs of your legs, and you moan against his skin. You suck lightly on a spot just beneath his jawline, definitely leaving a bruise. It’s not like anybody is going to see him for a few days. 

With surprising grace, Spencer lifts you up and lays you on your back. In one fluid movement, he lifts your shirt up and over your head, and you lay mostly bare underneath him. His actions reflect your own, leaving a trail of kisses down your jawline and collarbone. He bites a little harder than normal in a couple spots, and you can feel the sting even after he moves on. He wraps his lips around one of your nipples, and you arch your back into his touch. He switches between which one of your breasts he is paying the most attention to, lavishing one with his mouth and kneading the other with his hand. Your breathing quickens against your will, and you’re only slightly embarrassed by the effect that Spencer has on you. 

Spencer returns to your lips, and you match his intensity. While he has you distracted, he slides the pair of boxers you stole from him down your legs, kicking them across the room to be found later. He slides down your body, positioning himself between your legs. 

“Spencer, you don’t have to. I know all of this still makes you nervous,” You say. Sometimes you can still feel the inexperience behind his touch, and you don’t want him doing anything that makes him uncomfortable just to please you. When you meet his eyes, however, he looks as if he never wants to leave his current position. He places a few feather light kisses on the insides of your thighs, and your eyes flutter closed at the feeling. 

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to. You’re always the one pulling the weight when we’re together. I want to return the favor,” He replies, his breath ghosting over your skin. 

You open your mouth to protest, but whatever words you prepared melt into a moan as Spencer begins his payback. He licks a stripe up your center, and your hands immediately lace through his hair. He traces abstract shapes over your clit with his tongue, and you can’t stop the string of expletives that fall from your mouth. After spending a moment turning you into a writhing mess with his tongue, you feel him slip a single finger inside of you, dragging it against your g-spot as he pulls it back out. 

“Fuck, Spencer. How are you- fuck- so good at this?” You breathe out. Your words are punctuated by whiny moans, and you feel Spencer chuckle against you. He continues slowly thrusting one finger inside of you, adding a second when you begin to quiet down. 

Your fingers tighten in his hair as you feel your orgasm nearing. Your thighs involuntarily try to close around his head, but his free hand holds you open with a surprising strength. With one final drag of his fingers and a slight addition of pressure to your clit, Spencer brings you past the point of no return. Your back arches clear off the couch while you ride out your orgasm, grinding down against Spencer’s hand and mouth in an attempt to chase the waves of pleasure. 

As soon as you’re able to move again, you drag Spencer back up your body to catch his lips in a searing kiss. You taste yourself on him, and you can’t seem to get enough. Spencer’s hands slide over your waist, unable to find purchase on your sweat-slicked skin. He has one of his knees positioned between your legs, and you grind down on his clothed thigh to try and find more friction. You can feel his hardened member against your hip, and you’re more than ready to go for another round. You release your grip on Spencer’s hair when he tries to pull away from you, and you can see hesitation painted clearly across his face. 

“Are you sure you’re feeling well enough to-” He begins. 

“Spencer, please fuck me,” You whine against his lips. You’re not usually so needy, but this boy apparently turns your brain to mush too. 

Spencer clearly does not need to be told twice, ridding himself of his pants and lining himself up with you. You revel in the moan that falls from his lips as he slides into you. You’re still oversensitive from your last orgasm, so you wrap your legs around his hips to hold him inside of you while you take a moment to settle down.

When you release him, Spencer begins thrusting at a painfully slow pace. You enjoy the relaxed contact between your bodies for a minute, but you feel yourself getting restless at the current tempo. You lift his head from where it has fallen against your shoulder, forcing his blown-out hazel eyes to meet your own. 

All it takes is a high-pitched, breathy ‘please’ for him to get what you’re going for. He immediately picks up the pace, and you arch into him at the feeling of his skin sliding against yours. Your back starts to burn from the friction against the couch, but you could not possibly care less. 

You don’t care about your own release, since he’s already gotten you off once. Instead, you focus your attention on pleasing him as much as possible. Every now and again you bare down as he pulls out, increasing the drag between your bodies. Each time you do that, a choked sound escapes Spencer’s mouth. It’s not long before his rhythm begins to falter. You catch his lips in a simple kiss, swallowing down the pleasured moans that fall from his mouth. 

Soon enough, his pace becomes extremely erratic before stilling within you. You’re flooded with a sense of warmth, and you lock your legs behind his back once again to prevent him from moving. His body collapses on top of you, and you’re left as a bundle of sweaty, panting limbs. 

Your body begins to ache the second the high wears off. A chill rushes through you, causing you to shiver. Your Tylenol must be wearing off. 

Spencer moves to unravel himself from you, but you refuse to let him go. His body heat is the only thing keeping you warm right now. 

Spencer manages to lift you from the couch, careful enough to not break the skin-to-skin contact. He carries you to the bathroom, setting you down on the counter before turning on the shower as hot as it can go. You’re hit with a sudden wave of exhaustion, and you can hardly stand when he comes to take your hands. 

Spencer takes his time washing your body, smoothing over every curve. You tie your hair up in a bun on top of your head so he doesn’t have to bother dealing with it. He leaves you under the warm running water while he grabs fresh clothes. You step out of the shower into the warm, fluffy towel he has waiting for you. He delicately dries you off before slipping the new shirt over your head. You squeak as he picks you up bridal-style, carrying you back to the bed.

You begin to fall asleep almost immediately, barely registering the feeling of him curling up against your back. 

You may feel like absolute garbage, but you don’t ever want to leave the bubble you’ve created with Spencer.


	27. Chapter 27

Spencer is required to return to work as soon as he’s fever-free for 24 hours. You still have a week left of your antibiotics, but your fever breaks around the same time as his. You reluctantly put on real clothes to leave his apartment, returning to your own for the first time in several days.

The two of you resort back to your previous schedules, and it feels like your extended weekend never happened. You take back over at the store, giving your three employees a couple days off each. The store is pretty quiet for the next couple weeks, since everybody is either in school or enjoying the warmer weather. You take a full weekend to peruse your shelves, taking stock of what you already have and what you could improve on. Before you know it, it’s time to pack up and hit the road for your book resale convention down in North Carolina.

You leave Beck with your master keys for the shop and pointed directions to not leave Nick and Jesse alone together for too long. He laughs, but he knows how serious you are.

Someday, those two are going to burn your shop down.

It’s not too terribly long of a drive to Wilmington, North Carolina. It takes the better part of the afternoon, but you’re checked in to your hotel before dinner time. You order food when you get into town, and it’s waiting in the lobby for you as soon as you walk in. When you toss your bags on your bed and check your phone, you’re greeted by a handful of texts from Spencer.

_‘I hope you’re having fun! Be careful on the drive. The mountains can still be snowy this time of year.’_

_‘Let me know when you get there safe.’_

_‘Don’t talk to strangers. Even the nicest people can be psychopaths.’_

You laugh audibly at his last text even though there’s nobody around to hear you. You send him a message to remind him that you do this every year, and you’ve always made it home safely. Nobody really targets someone carrying several boxes of books. They make good weapons.

The next day, you ready yourself in a cute outfit and your most comfortable shoes. You force yourself to down some toast in the morning, but you can hardly stomach it. Your body is still feeling the effects of the antibiotics from several weeks ago. You haven’t actually vomited at all, but you’ve been close on several occasions.

You spend the day walking the convention floor, talking with various book binders and resellers. You manage to snag a few special edition copies that you can put on display at the store. You find someone selling a full, brand new box set of _A Series of Unfortunate Events_ by Lemony Snicket. You purchase it immediately, and you have to convince yourself not to keep it at your apartment. Most of the collections at your store are pieced together, and it’s rare that you can find an entire collection in one place.

Throughout the day, you run into a few familiar faces. Usually, this event attracts the same crowd every year. Not many people wander around a book convention unless they’re really into literature. It’s a bit of a niche thing.

You almost screech when you spot Avery, a store owner from Washington that you only see once a year. She runs over and embraces you as soon as she catches your eye. Sometimes you think it’s weird that you have genuine friends that you only talk to once a year, but it feels like your meetings are much more special this way.

“Oh my gosh! How are you? How have you been?” She all but yells in your ear, pulling back to look you over.

“I’ve been awesome! It’s been a tough year, but I still managed to make it here so I can’t complain. How have you and your shop been?” You reply. Her shop is stunning. You’ve only ever seen it in pictures, but it has a beautiful log cabin theme that is very fitting for the pacific northwest.

“Things have been going really well. We’re looking at buying a bigger building to move into. It’s super expensive, but I’m so excited. Lance and I are going out for drinks tonight, and a couple other shop owners are coming. You should tag along!” She babbles. A pang of anxiety shoots through your chest at having to impress more people, but your other option is to sit alone in your room all night.

“Of course! I’m staying just up the street in the same hotel as usual. Should we meet in the lobby?” You ask. She nods in response, making a small noise of affirmation.

“Absolutely. We’ll meet you there around eight?” She clarifies. You nod in agreement before both of you dash in opposite directions.

From the outside, this whole event must seem strange. For you, it brings a feeling of comfort and familiarity that you can’t explain.

By the end of the day, you’ve purchased enough books to fill half a dozen boxes, and the hotel allows you to store them in an empty conference room like they do each year. You hustle back up to your room to ready yourself for a night of light drinking and conversation. You collapse on your bed, feeling another wave of nausea pass over you. Sometimes you forget to eat during events like these, and today is no exception. You crack open a sleeve of crackers that you packed in your bag for this exact reason.

You didn’t pack much for a night out, so you settle for a simple black dress with gradient rose gold sparkles around the hem. You throw on the nicest pair of shoes you packed and a light touch of makeup. Avery knows you, so she knows that you don’t get dolled up unless absolutely necessary.

You meet with Avery and her husband Lance in the lobby at exactly eight. They call a cab to take you all to a fancy lounge across town. You’ll likely have just enough to drink that you shouldn’t drive yourself home. You hate to spend more money than necessary, but you did promise Spencer that you’d make it home safely.

When you reach the lounge, you meet up with a handful of other people you’ve never met before. You order a vodka soda to sip on while you listen to everybody else converse. Avery introduces you to Thomas, a store owner from northern California, Madeline, who owns a chain of stores across Colorado, and Nathan, who is the owner of a little shop up in Maine. You banter back and forth for a while, but you spend most of your time listening to them. Small talk is not your area of expertise, so you’d rather act as a fly on the wall.

Nathan notices that you’ve been swirling your straw in an empty glass for the past half-hour and offers to buy you a drink. You decline politely, but he obviously isn’t going to take no for an answer. He returns moments later with another vodka soda for you and a glass of scotch for himself. You sip on it politely, but you’re already feeling a little nauseous from the mixture of the alcohol and socialization. You’re startled when he attempts to strike up a conversation with you.

“You’re a bit young to be a shop owner. Does it run in the family or are you just lucky?” He asks. You bristle at his questions, but ultimately you decide to remain civil.

“No, my dad was a psychiatrist and my mom was a nurse, so it’s not exactly in my blood. I guess my management skills are just above par,” You explain. You hate to give away personal information, but you also hate to let this middle aged white man demean you.

“I’m surprised you’ve found so much success so close to DC. They’re typically all chain stores out there,” He states. You click your tongue, looking over at Avery to catch her attention. She’s too wrapped up in her conversation with Thomas to notice your discomfort.

“Well, I guess when you have great customer service skills and a killer book collection, word tends to get around. I’ve never had any issues with customer retention,” You bite back. He sits back in his seat at your tone, and you hope it’s enough to get him to back off.

Avery notices the chill in your voice, jumping in to rescue you. She engages Nathan in some conversation about the stock market. You zone out, looking around the room to watch the type of people that come in and out of the lounge.

A splitting headache begins to set in around nine thirty, so you excuse yourself from the table. You call for a cab and wait outside, hoping the cooler air will help to settle your stomach. You feel a wave of fatigue pass over you, followed shortly by a wave of panic. You find the nearest bench and take a seat, and your vision goes fuzzy. At least you won’t fall as far if you lose consciousness. The edges of your vision begin to go black, and your brain can’t seem to move fast enough to think about what to do. You manage to send a single text to Spencer before you feel hands on your body and blackness wash over you.

_‘Something’s wrong.’_


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this goes without saying, but the next several chapters are going to be heavy, so read at your own risk.
> 
> I've listed out trigger warnings in the notes at the end of the chapter so as not to spoil things for those who are not easily bothered. If you are someone who may get triggered by any variety of things, please read through the warnings. In the future, I'll depict that how I've written it below. 
> 
> //TW in the end notes

When you return to consciousness, you have no point of reference for how much time has passed. You’re seated alone in a dark room. There are no windows, and a single metal door is the only way in or out. The room is dimly lit by an exposed light bulb hanging from the ceiling, casting a faint yellow glow across the room. The room is constructed entirely of concrete, and you feel like you’re in some sort of bomb shelter. 

You blink hard to clear some of the blurriness from your eyes. You attempt to rub at them, but your hands are strapped down to the chair. A rush of panic floods your body, and you jerk your limbs to try and rip yourself free. After several minutes, you realize that you’re not getting anywhere, so you decide to take stock of the situation instead of wasting your time. 

You’ve been strapped down to a wooden armchair, and your wrists and ankles are secured by leather cuffs. They’re tight enough that you can’t slip free, but at least they’re not so tight that you’re losing feeling. 

Your mouth feels like it’s full of cotton balls, and your head is still pounding. Your body is faintly achy, and you can feel several small cuts scattered across your arms and legs. Clearly somebody slipped something into your drink. You’re also faintly nauseous, probably from a mixture of the alcohol, drugs, and not eating nearly enough food. 

Looking down at yourself, you’ve still got your black dress on, but it’s dirty and scuffed up. Your feet are bare, and there is mud caked over the backs of your legs. 

You think back to last night, trying to place a timeline of events. You felt fine after your first drink, and it wasn’t until you finished the second that the headache started to set in. After that, it all went too fast. You barely remember stepping outside before it all went black. 

And you remember sending a text to Spencer. 

You’re not sure what the intentions were for that message. Part of you wonders if you were just seeking comfort or if your subconscious knew that you were going to need help. 

Either way, Spencer is paranoid enough that he’ll be on a plane when he doesn’t get a timely response.

You jump when you hear the door creak open. 

Bright lights flood the room as the door fully opens. Your eyes burn from the sudden addition of light, and you can’t make out much detail of the person standing in front of you. 

Their boots sound heavy as they enter the room, and you hear a click as the door swings shut behind them. A masculine figure approaches where you are seated, crouching down in front of your chair. 

The man in front of you is large, standing roughly 6’5”. He has a scruffy brown beard, and you’d describe him as lumberjack-esque if you saw him on the street. He’s wearing a basic grey hoodie and jeans, and he has a messenger bag slung over his shoulder. 

You attempt to speak, but your throat seizes up from lack of use. You’re reduced to a coughing fit, and the man watches you intently until you’re finished. 

“Why am I here?” You croak, your voice coming out scratchier than you’d hoped. You clear your throat again in hopes of preventing another coughing fit. 

“If you think really hard, you’ll probably figure it out,” He says simply, dropping his bag to the floor. His voice is impossibly deep and unsettling. 

“I’m not sure I follow. If you want money, I can give you my brother’s phone number. We have a life insurance payout from my mother and I-”

Your plea for your life is cut off by a hard crack across your face. Your mouth fills with blood as your teeth cut up the inside of your cheek. 

“This isn’t about money. This is about you ruining peoples’ lives. You walk through life without a care in the world, not noticing how you’re tearing down the people around you,” He bites. You shake your head to try and clear the fog that is still present from the drugs. 

“I don’t understand. I’ve never ruined anybody’s life. Did Vince put you up to this? Because I’m sure he can find someone better than me,” You say, more to yourself than to him. No matter what or whom this is about, you silently pray that Spencer took your text seriously and can find you before any real damage is done. 

“This isn’t about Vince. We couldn’t care less about your boyfriends. Though, this new one has caused us some problems,” He replies. You furrow your eyebrows, still far beyond confused. 

This is personal somehow, but you can’t pin it down. 

“I’m really sorry if I’ve ever done anything to hurt you. I try to help people where I can, but I can’t help everybody,” You plead. His hand claps down on your thigh, and you wince at the sting. He slides it far too high for your liking, but you can’t kick out at him thanks to the restraints. 

“Have you considered that you wouldn’t be in this situation if you had just kept your head down and ignored what’s going on around you like you always do? Why do you choose to act out only when you’re going to ruin somebody’s life?” He questions. 

His questions sound rhetorical, almost like a taunt, but it flips a switch in your brain. 

“Why did Link send you here?” You ask. He tenses up at your question, and you know you hit the nail on the head. 

“Link didn’t send me here. I chose to do this. He just gave me the extra information I needed to find you,” He says. You want to roll your eyes at his teasing, but a sense of self-preservation prevents you from doing so. 

“That didn’t answer my question. Why am I here? What do you want from me?” You’re trying not to let your aggravation show in your voice, but your patience is wearing thin. 

“You’re here because you ruined his life. This is just payback. If you had just kept you head down, none of this would be happening,” He sneers. 

“Well maybe he shouldn’t have broken into Molly’s house. Then the police wouldn’t have gotten involved. None of this is my fault. He did it to himself,” You gripe back. You immediately regret your choice of words as the man lands another hard crack against your other cheek. You spit out a mouthful of blood, looking back to him with a look of utter disinterest. 

Truthfully, you’re much more terrified now knowing that Link is behind all of this. He clearly came unhinged long ago, and you’re afraid that he’s only had time to deteriorate. 

Your body goes cold as the man turns his attention away from you, rustling through his bag. You hear the muffled sound of glass bottles clinking against one another. You watch as he reaches in, pulling out a pair of glass vials and a syringe. He takes his time mixing the contents together, and you begin to bounce your leg to diffuse your overwhelming anxious energy. 

“Whatever Link told you to do isn’t worth it. The FBI are already on their way. You’re not going to walk away from this if you hurt me. A few slaps are fine, but you are absolutely going to jail if you drug me. The same thing that happened to Link is going to happen to you. Please think about what you’re doing,” You plead. You feel a few tears leave trails down your cheeks, and you hope that it can at least make him feel a little guilty. 

“I’ve thought about this a lot. We’ve been planning this for a while, you know. But I’m pretty happy with my decision,” He says calmly, flicking the syringe so the bubbles float to the top. 

He reaches out to grab your elbow, turning your arm slightly. He wraps a tourniquet around your upper arm, and he begins searching for a vein. 

“Please, don’t do this. I’m really sorry that I hurt you guys. I’d do it all differently if I could go back and change things,” You cry. It’s pathetic and completely untrue, but you feel like you need to make some last-ditch effort here.

“But you can’t go back and change things, can you? What’s done is done,” He states. 

You wince when the needle pierces your skin, but he manages to hit your vein on the first try. Whatever drug he’s injecting you with burns like hell, and you groan at the feeling of fire ripping through your veins. 

“We should’ve thought about taking pictures to send to your boyfriend. I’m sure he’d love to see you like this. Just one more thing for the two of you to bond over,” He chuckles as he pats your leg and stands up straight. 

You struggle to understand what he means as the drugs circulate throughout your body. You’ve got your eyes squeezed shut to try and block out any extra stimuli. You hardly register the sound of the door opening and closing over the ringing in your ears. Your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest, and you fear that he’s given something to induce cardiac arrest. Your chest aches as the edges of your vision go black again. Before long, you slump forward in your chair, losing the ability to hold yourself up. Seconds later, everything goes entirely black as you’re sucked back into unconsciousness.

\---

When you wake again, you’re greeted by a horrific smell. You quickly come to the conclusion that you’ve not only urinated on yourself, but the drugs also triggered you to vomit. 

You’re impossibly thirsty, and you have no sense of how long you’ve been here. Your body aches with a deep fatigue, but your legs feel restless. You hardly have the muscle control to lift your head and look around. 

You zone out, thinking about how Spencer’s team could possibly find you in a place like this. There’s no identifying marks about this room, and there is no clear relationship between you and your captor. 

You’re not sure how much time has passed before there is a noise at the door again. This time, two bodies pass through, coming to crouch on either side of you. 

“Have you figured out how your personal FBI team is going to save you this time?” Link asks. You roll your eyes, not having the energy or mental capacity to put up with his games. 

“Fuck off, Link,” Is all you can muster.

“But we’re just getting started, Darling. I should get to have my fun too, don’t you think?” He places his hand on your upper thigh. You feel your muscles twitch involuntarily, but you have no means of fighting back. 

“If you’re going to kill me, just do it already,” You groan. You’re going to die of dehydration if he doesn’t kill you first. You’re still gripping tight to the hope that Spencer is going to kick down that door any second, but your discomfort is bordering on unbearable. 

“But we’ve got so much to talk about. Like, how about the fact that you’re only second best for Spencer? He’s already found the love of his life and lost her. She was pretty awesome. You’ll never live up to her,” Link taunts. Your chest tightens, and you’re not sure if it’s the drugs or the taunting. 

“I really don’t care, Link,” You respond. He chuckles under his breath. 

“How about your siblings? You haven’t gotten the invite for Ethan’s wedding yet, right? Even though it’s only two months away. And Ron? He’s already got a new girlfriend. I guess your mom just wasn’t good enough to make him wait,” Link continues his rant. 

You don’t reward him with a response. 

“What about the fact that Spencer’s a drug addict? Has that come up yet?” Link rests his hand on your knee. You’re so tired, you can’t possibly be bothered. 

“Give it up. You’ve made your point,” You mumble. He digs his nails into your leg, drawing blood, but you don’t react. 

“Well, if you insist,” He trails off.

You hear the clatter of glass vials again. You’d much rather let the drugs wash over you than listen to Link drone on. 

This time, nobody searches for your vein. The needle is plunged into your thigh, hurting so much worse than the last on. You choke on a sob as he depresses the plunger, dispensing far too much medication into your body. 

Almost immediately, your stomach makes an attempt to empty its contents. Luckily, you haven’t eaten in a while, so you can’t even manage to bring up any bile. You’re left dry heaving, and you can hear Link laughing at you as he heads for the door. 

“Be careful what you wish for, Princess,” He calls before you’re left alone again.

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, picking up a startling pace. Your arms begin to ache from the tachycardia, and you have to quickly come to peace with the fact that this is how you’re going to die. You struggle to take in a deep breath, coughing if you inhale too deeply. 

Your lungs begin to burn from lack of oxygen. Your vision goes white instead of black this time. You feel tears running down your cheeks at the thought of Spencer not knowing what happened to you. This is going to crush Sylvie, and Ethan shouldn’t have to deal with this either. 

You suck in one last breath, filling your lungs to capacity before blacking out again, falling down into the void of unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:
> 
> Torture, blood, vomit, urine, degrading talk, minor non-consensual touching, violence, syringes, needles, drugs


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //TW in end notes

You’re greeted by the smell of gingersnap cookies and the sound of Sylvie yelling directions from across the room. She sounds too young, though, as if she’s a child. You shake your head to try and break up the fog, and you open your eyes to find yourself standing in the kitchen of your childhood home. A younger version of Sylvie stands across the kitchen island from you, giving you a pointed look. 

“You’re only allowed to be in here if you’re going to help. Otherwise, come back later,” She snaps, holding her hand out towards you. You grab a spice bottle off the counter in front of you, tossing it over to her. It’s a motion you’ve completed too many times for you to count. She never lets you stay in the kitchen unless you’re of use to her. 

“What’s the special occasion?” You ask. She only bakes gingersnaps when she’s anxious. For some reason the specific combination of spices calms her nerves.

Instead of responding to you, Sylvie busies herself by aggressively creaming butter and sugar together in a way that only your little sister can. You take her silence as an answer, and you turn your attention to the room around you.

Sunlight streams through the window, casting colorful beams of light across the walls from the stained glass panel. Looking through the panes, you can’t make out any details. Everything is bright and hazy, and you can’t see past the back deck. It’s the same situation for the rest of the room. You’re standing in a singular point of clarity, everything becoming a dense fog about ten feet away. 

Looking down at yourself, you’re clothed in the same black dress you put on a couple nights ago. Your skin is no longer dirty, but you can see a small trickle of blood running down your leg. Lifting the hem of the dress, you can see a single needle poke surrounded by a deep purple bruise. Your left arm has a matching setup. Your body feels fine otherwise, almost as if you’re floating through time. Your head is clear and your stomach is settled for the first time in days. 

You’re snapped out of your trance by Sylvie cursing under her breath. She’s cracked an egg into a small bowl, and several large chunks of shell have fallen in. You rush to her side, watching her struggle to get the pieces out with her fingers. 

“Hey, calm down. It’s easier if you do this,” You bump her out of the way, using a large piece of shell to break the surface tension and remove the smaller fragments. A look of awe passes over her face at your magic trick. 

“You couldn’t have taught me that years ago? I’ve been chasing pieces around with my fingers since I was five!” She exclaims. You’ve been holding out on her for years, but you thought she would have figured it out for herself long ago. You laugh at her as you return to your spot at the breakfast bar. 

“Is this because of a big test in algebra? Or is this about Jeremy?” You question. She quirks her eyebrow at you. 

“Who is Jeremy?” She asks. You must have overshot your guess at what period of time you’re in. She had a borderline obsessive crush on a boy named Jeremy for several years, starting when she was about ten. By the looks of her, your guess can’t be too far off. 

“You’ll see. He’s not really worth your time, but he’s a good distraction for you. Your baking will get so much better because of him,” You explain. You know that this version of Sylvie isn’t real, but you still have the feeling that you’re time travelling and your advice will actually mean something. 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” She scoffs, returning to sifting her flour. “You should go get changed. Dad is going to be home soon, and he’s not going to like that dress.”

She’s probably right. It’s a little more gaudy than something your dad would pick for you. You push yourself off the stool with a huff, passing through the archway to head upstairs. You hit the wall of fog, and it feels like ice rushing over your skin. 

Your bare feet pad across slick hardwood flooring instead of carpet, and you’re blinded by strong beams of light. The sound of string instruments tuning fills your ears, and goosebumps erupt down your arms from a rush of adrenaline. 

You always got nervous before performances. 

You gingerly step forward towards the center of the stage. You take your seat in the first chair of the cello section, next to your stand partner Isaac. You flip through the sheet music in front of you, assuring yourself that you’ve packed the appropriately notated pieces. Isaac laughs at your ritual, beginning to pluck away at his own instrument. 

You lift your cello from the floor, resting it between your thighs. You feel the points of the edging dig into your skin, and you’re reminded why you always wear tights or pants to performances. 

You wipe your palms on your dress, ridding yourself of any excess perspiration. Picking up and tightening your bow, you drag it across the A string. It’s wildly out of tune, so you return the bow to the stand while you adjust everything back to how it should be. You wince as you gently turn the peg, having been scarred by snapped strings one too many times to be confident with this particular procedure. Eventually, you fine-tune everything to perfection, picking up your bow once more. 

You take a deep breath as you’re given the official signal to tune as a group. Another wave of adrenaline pulses through your system as your entire orchestra swells together, making sure you all sound harmonious before you truly begin. 

The group inhales collectively as you’re given the first cue from your conductor. Everyone begins a hushed tremolo as the conductor turns to you. You don’t even look to your sheet music while you begin the solo that has followed you for years. You complete it without hesitation, adding just the right amount of vibrato to your final note. You play the rest of the song from memory, smiling to yourself as the melody bounces between sections. 

As the song comes to a dramatic close, your conductor takes a bow. The crowd erupts into applause, and you rise to take your own bow. 

You grab your cello by the neck, carrying it just high enough that the end pin doesn’t drag on the ground. Your arm brushes along the black velvet curtain, and you’re hit by a wall of ice cold air yet again. 

You step out into the white mist, and your feet hit sand instead of the stage. You hear waves crashing around you, and gulls are calling in the distance. Turning around, you see a familiar lighthouse. You can’t see more than twenty feet past the shoreline, but the sense of familiarity is comforting.

A voice speaks from behind you, and you instantly tear up at its familiar timbre.

“It’s a bit chilly out here for that outfit, don’t you think so?” Your father jokes. You turn to face him, and you can feel the tears pouring down your cheeks. “What’s going on Sweet Pea? Did you and Vince get in a fight?”

He walks over to you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. You lean into his touch, something you never thought you’d feel again. He smells like the same combination of pine and hand sanitizer. It’s a weird combination, but you love it. 

“No, Daddy, I’m okay. I’ve just had a bad day,” You say, wiping the tears from your face. He helps you by swiping his thumb across your cheek. 

“What could make a day so bad that you’re in tears out here?” He asks. You let out a rueful laugh. 

“Um, a friend’s ex-boyfriend is kind of a jerk. He’s been making me pretty miserable for the past few days,” You explain. It’s putting it lightly, but you don’t think you could ever voice what you’ve actually been through. 

“Why are you letting him do that to you? You’ve never been the type of person to let someone walk all over you,” He brings up a very valid point. You may have been quiet throughout school, but you never let anyone tear you down. 

“I’m kind of stuck with him. I don’t exactly have a way out of the situation,” You say bluntly. 

You’ve figured that this whole dream sequence are endorphins rushing throughout your body as you die. So far, you’ve been okay with that. But it feels like this is all coming to a close. 

You’re not ready to die yet.

But you’re also not ready to leave your dad. 

“Well then, create a way out. You’re one of the strongest people I know. You never let anybody get in your way,” He replies, wrapping his arm around your shoulder again. 

“I don’t think it’s that easy. Besides, it brought me here. I didn’t think I’d get to see you again. But here we are,” You whisper. It’s been six years, but it feels like a lifetime. 

“Don’t go soft on me. You know better than to roll over and submit when things get hard. What would Spencer think of that?” You go cold at his question.

“How do you know about Spencer?” You ask. He just laughs. 

“I’m your dad. I know everything,” He has a good point. He somehow always knew your deepest secrets. 

“I love Spencer. I really do. I just don’t know how I’m going to deal with the aftermath of all of this,” You gesture vaguely to your surroundings. 

“He helped you with your mother. What makes you think he won’t help you through this, too?” He continues to ask you questions that he knows you don’t want to answer.

He was always a damn good psychiatrist. 

“I don’t want to keep asking him for help. It feels like I’m constantly showing up on his doorstep, always one step away from a mental breakdown. It’s unfair of me to place that burden on him,” You explain, letting your exasperation show. He shakes his head at you.

“Has he ever given you any indication that he feels uncomfortable with your emotions?” He asks.

“No,” You mumble under your breath. You hate when your dad psychoanalyzes you.

“Have you ever felt afraid to go to him when you’re in a moment of crisis?” He asks again. 

“No, and I know what you’re about to-” Your argument is cut off before it can ever really begin. 

“You two are meant for each other. You balance each other out. If you were a burden to him, he would have told you so by now. Not everybody goes around secretly resenting you for your emotions. You know that,” He says sternly. You shrink back at his harsh words, even though you know it’s the honest truth. 

“But what if I don’t want to leave you here alone?” You ask quietly. 

“That’s your choice. But you and I both know that this isn’t going to last forever,” He responds. 

You faintly hear your name being carried by the wind. You look out over the water, but there’s nothing there. When you turn back to your father, he’s got his arm wrapped around your mom’s shoulders. 

“Go. I’m not alone here,” He says. 

You close your eyes, allowing a fresh set of tears to coat your cheeks. 

You step out into the lake, feeling the intense pins and needles from the freezing cold water. You walk out until you’re waist deep. You turn to face the shore, but your father is gone. 

You’re never going to be emotionally ready to face the aftermath of what you’re going through, but you don’t have much of a choice. 

You fill your lungs with air before dunking your whole body under the surface. You fight the instinct to inhale from shock, allowing yourself to be engulfed by the surf. 

Soon enough, your entire body is numb. The rushing sound of the water is replaced by several dozen voices. You can’t make out what anybody is saying, but they all sound panicked. 

You feel hands on your chest, and your ribs ache. Every few seconds, fresh air is being forced into your lungs. You feel a warm hand holding yours, and you squeeze tight to let whomever it is know that you’re here. 

You’re alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Near death experience, blood


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> // TW in end notes

You feel one of your ribs crack, but you can’t scream to let them know that it’s too much. Mentally, you’re here. You must still be struggling physically, though, or else they would have stopped compressions already. You feel like you’re choking as another rush of air is forced into your body, but it eases some of the burning in your muscles.

Your entire body shakes as you’re moved to another location. Your eyes feel glued shut, and you’re cut off from the world. You can hear, but everything else is just out of reach.

A callused finger passes over the back of your hand. You’ve felt it enough times to know exactly who it belongs to. You make another attempt at squeezing back, but it comes out as more of a twitch. Either way, it’s enough for him to feel. You can’t make out his exact words, but they ease up on the chest compressions and forced breaths. A repetitive beeping noise fills your ears, and you clock it as your heart rate. It’s a little fast, but at least you’re alive.

Your chest aches, and you feel a rush of fatigue come over your body. Just as fast as you woke up, you feel yourself being pulled back to sleep.

///

You can’t tell how long you’ve been out when you start to regain your senses. The first thing that hits you is the smell. You smell like you’ve been scrubbed from head to toe with rubbing alcohol, but there’s a faint smell of pine and old books hidden somewhere behind it.

Your body feels like it’s enveloped in a heavy weighted blanket. For the first time in several days, you’re almost comfortable.

That is, until you feel a radiating ache stemming from your sternum. You feel several pin-pricks in both of your arms, and your hips feel like they need to pop.

Your head still feels fuzzy, but sounds start chipping away at the fog that is filling your brain.

You struggle to place the first sounds that reach your ears. The words and the tone of voice are familiar, but they’re just too far away to make any sense.

“ _-trying to enlist my sympathy? I assure you I know everything, and I can’t feel sorry even for myself. A trap! Don’t I know it, and that I’m a trap myself, up to the neck, and there’s nothing to be done about it? And if it suits-_ ”

You must have furrowed your eyebrows or wiggled your fingers, because the voice abruptly stops. A rhythmic beeping cuts through the mist in your brain, and the squeaking of sneakers against well polished floors adds to the cacophony.

You quickly become overstimulated by the mixture of sounds and random pains throughout your body, and you shift uncomfortably to try and ease something, somehow. A warm hand encases your own, and you yank your hand backwards, almost as if you’re being burned.

Your breathing picks up, and you hear the beeping get slightly faster.

Your eyes feel like they’re super glued shut, but you need to get them open to help dampen some of the sourceless stimuli. The bed dips slightly to your left, and you finally peel your eyes open. It takes everything in your body not to scream at the figure leaning over you. He must notice the panic in your eyes, because he jumps back up, much like you’ve burned him in return.

It takes far too long for your brain to recognize that it’s Spencer.

He looks hurt by your reaction, and you can’t possibly look any better.

You attempt to speak, but your words are cut off by a fit of coughing triggered by the feeling of sandpaper coating your throat. A small army of doctors and nurses rush into the room as your vitals begin to change. Someone raises the back of your bed so you’re sitting upright, and a wave of nausea passes over you at the change in position. A man with sandy blond hair and impossibly green eyes snags a sealed water bottle off of the table next to you, cracking the seal but leaving the cap on. Your numb fingers fumble with the cap, and you drink down more than half of the bottle before you feel the weight of it begin to settle in your belly. It feels like fire ripping down your throat, but the sting is soothed slightly once you’re finished.

The man, who you assume is your doctor, waves some of the nurses and other staff away, kicking the majority of them out of the room.

“My name is Dr. Harrison. I’m the lead doctor on your case. How are you feeling?” He asks in a soothing voice. It borders on condescending, but you feel like that’s something you’re going to have to get used to quickly.

“I feel like I got hit by a bus. How long was I out?” You croak. You clear your throat, hoping to knock something loose and start feeling normal again.

“They brought you in early this morning, probably around three. It’s about five in the evening now, so you’ve been asleep for a good fourteen hours or so. Your body needed the rest,” He explains. You’re surprised that it’s only been that long. It feels like you slept for days.

“I feel like it’s obvious that I know what happened to me, but what kind of damage am I looking at?” You question. Your mind tells you that it’s best to be clinical right now, taking stock of things that can objectively be fixed.

You see Spencer pacing near the door. They let him stay in the room, but some of the nurses watching him from the hallway make it look like they would rather it not be this way. He has his eyes on you, and you can’t quite pin down his emotions. His mood is definitely darker than normal.

He almost seems angry with you.

“Primarily, we’re working on rehydrating you. You were in captivity for just over two days with no apparent source of water. That, mixed with the drugs you were given, caused some severe dehydration. We’ve got you on IV fluids, and we’ve placed a urinary catheter to monitor output. Beyond that, you’re not in too bad of shape. There is no permanent cardiac damage as far as we can tell. Your blood work clearly tells us that something happened, but the numbers are improving. You don’t appear to have any neurological deficits at this time. You do have a few cracked ribs from the first response team, but I’ll get you a script for some pain killers for that,” He lists your various ailments. You tune out at some point, just feeling grateful that there won’t likely be any persistent issues.

“How long do I have to stay here?” You ask quietly. He chuckles at your lack of concern over your long list of potential problems.

“It’s hard to say. We want to get you out of here and on your way home as soon as possible. We just want to make sure that you’ll be safe enough to travel. It will likely be another few days, yet,” He answers. You nod at his honesty, thankful that he’s not one to get your hopes up.

Dr. Harrison stands from where he has himself perched at the end of your bed. He taps his fingers on the end of your bed, nodding towards Spencer as he leaves.

For the first time since you woke up, Spencer’s eyes truly meet your own. He looks exhausted, and a pang of guilt resonates through your chest.

“I’m not dead,” You squeak out. It’s not exactly the most romantic or comforting choice of words, but it’s the truth.

“But you were,” His voice sounds small, and it doesn’t match his current gruff, angry looking exterior. You reach your hand out for him, begging him to come back to you. You feel awful for shaking him off earlier, and you need to ground yourself again. Your mind is starting to slip back to the interaction you had with your father, and you can’t let yourself get too deep into that if you ever hope to be able to recover.

“I’m not anymore. I’ve got the machines to prove it,” You jest, nodding back towards the army of beeping apparatuses behind you.

You think you see a small smile pass over his lips as he takes a seat on your bed again. His warm hands envelope your freezing ones.

“How are you feeling?” He asks.

“Not great. But I’m alive, so I feel like I can’t complain,” You respond honestly.

“I thought they weren’t going to be able to bring you back,” He says, his voice crackling. You bring his hands up to your face, resting your cheek against them. Your body temperature must be low overall, since his hands feel warm against your face as well.

He looks like he wants to continue, but he stops himself. You don’t really want the image of your dead body floating around in your head, but a morbid fascination begs you to ask more questions.

“How did you guys find me?” You ask. You know his team is impossibly good, but they found you faster than you would have expected with the lack of lead-up.

“Garcia tracked your phone after you sent that text. We found it sitting on the ground outside of a restaurant. One of your friends from dinner came to the station after she realized you were missing. She gave an amazing description of everybody at the restaurant. I don’t think we could have done it without her.”

“That’s Avery for you. She always has my back,” You say wistfully. You love her to pieces, even if you only see her once a year.

“From there, we got the guy who drugged you-”

“Was it Nathan?” You interrupt. Spencer looks startled by your sudden outburst, but he nods slightly. “I knew it. That guy was such an ass.”

“Well he’s currently on his way to state prison, so you don’t need to worry about him. He was easy enough to crack, and we were able to track you down from there. It’s not like this guy was a highly skilled serial killer. This was an isolated incident, so he didn’t have the experience to keep it very secretive,” He finishes.

“I thought I was going to die down there. Even if I started screaming, nobody was going to hear me,” You ramble.

“You weren’t too far out of town, actually. Either way, we got the guy. It’ll be an easy open-and-closed case,” Spencer says.

Your blood runs cold.

“There were two of them, Spencer,” You state. He furrows his eyebrows at you.

“The bunker was only set up for one person. There were only traces of a single male in the area. There couldn’t have been two people,” He says incredulously. Your blood flips from cold to hot.

How is he not believing you?

“There were two people, Spencer. It was Link and some guy he hired,” You argue. He shakes his head slowly.

“We have your attacker in custody. He was outside when we got there. There weren’t any other footprints or anything,” He says. You want to reach out and hit him upside the head, but your ribs hurt too bad. You can hear your heart monitor picking up in the background.

“Link was there too. He fucking stabbed a syringe into my leg and overdosed me on God knows what. Don’t act like I’m crazy,” Tears start falling down your cheeks. You know you’re going to have to fight an entire courtroom about everything that has happened. You don’t want to fight with your boyfriend too. Spencer places a hand on your leg, but you brush him off.

“I don’t think you’re crazy. There’s no physical evidence to connect Link to the crime scene. I’ll let the others know that there is the possibility, though. We can be more thorough with the DNA evidence,” Spencer pushes himself off of the bed, typing away at his phone. His attempt to placate you feels entirely hollow, and you’re ready to start screaming. The machines you’re hooked to beat you to it. One alarm triggers after another, indicating an increasing heart rate and blood pressure.

“Is this what you do all day? Do you fly across the country to invalidate victims? It’s not a _possibility_ that Link was there. He sat in front of me. He touched me. He taunted me. And he tried to kill me. If you can’t get that through your head, then maybe you’re not the genius you pretend to be,” You bite. Spencer looks hurt, but you’re not done with him yet.

Nurses rush into the room to check you over, making sure you’re not going to throw yourself into cardiac arrest. They’re injecting medications into your IV line, and you can feel warmth rush through your body. Your eyelids immediately become heavy, and you fight to keep yourself upright.

“While we had our nice little chat, Link brought up some of your vices. What was your drug of choice, hm? Was it something that could have done this to me?” You glare at him. He opens his mouth to speak, but a pair of nurses force him out of the room.

Another nurse rubs your shoulder. She gives you a look of pure pity, and you shrink away from her touch. That last piece of information should have stayed between Spencer and yourself. It’s unfair to him to have his personal history outed. The feeling of regret pulses through your veins alongside whatever sedative they give you. You don’t have time to settle on an apology before you’re forcefully pulled back into a drug induced sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Medical stuff (needles, IVs, blood, bruises, hospitals, injuries), Sensory deprivation


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! 
> 
> I promise I haven't forgotten about you! New house renovations have been a little crazy and work has been genuinely insane (like, each of us went at least 5 hours into overtime last week- it may not seem like a lot but we almost never hit overtime usually), but I'm working on writing where I can. I'll keep updating on a likely-irregular basis, as I currently have no plans for the end of this story.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me on this!
> 
> ~S

Whatever sedation was pushed through your IV wasn’t quite strong enough, so you spend the next several hours rolling back and forth from side to side in an attempt to make yourself more comfortable. Your brain feels hazy again, now even more clouded from the sedation. Nurses flit in and out of your room every half hour, keeping a close eye on your vitals. Your blood is taken every couple of hours. You pray that your levels are all returning to normal so you can just go home. 

The sun set hours ago, and all of the visitors you could hear in the rooms beside yours have long since returned home. Now and then you find a stray tear slipping down your cheek, or your throat begins to feel tight, but you shove those emotions away. 

It’s done. 

It’s over.

There’s nothing to be so sad about anymore. 

They’ll find Link and actually throw him in jail this time. It’s as easy as that. 

You’ve completely lost track of time, your only signal being the nurses that rotate through. You’re not sure if you want to know, or if you’re happy just existing in limbo until the sun rises.

Eventually you decide that you should probably integrate back into the land of the living. 

The nurse that held you down after you freaked out on Spencer knocks gently on your door, allowing herself in once it’s clear that you aren’t going to protest.

“I’m sorry about my behavior earlier,” You say quietly. Your words seem to startle her. Thus far, you’ve been letting them do their jobs in silence. What you said earlier may not have been directed at her, but you feel the need to apologize for causing a scene. 

“It’s okay, Honey. I’ve dealt with worse. Trust me,” She replies as she clicks through the various settings on the machines you’re hooked to. 

“That doesn’t mean you should have to. You’ve all been so nice to me. It was unfair of me to put you in that position,” You ramble on with your apology. She laughs under her breath, shaking her head. 

“You don’t have to justify your actions. You’ve been through more than most people could handle. You get a pass, this time,” She looks at you pointedly before jotting some notes in your chart. You give her a half-hearted smile in return.

“Are any of the FBI agents still hanging around?” You ask. You curl your legs up underneath yourself, playing with your fingers in your lap.

“Most of them are. I don’t think they’re going to leave until your boyfriend does. And I don’t think he’s leaving until you do,” She responds. You hum a small noise of affirmation.

“You’re probably right. Sorry about them, by the way. They’re all a little intense. Is there any way you could send Emily Prentiss or Jennifer Jareau in here? If it’s not too much to ask?” You question. She clicks her pen closed, tucking it back in the front pocket of her scrubs.

“Technically it’s past visiting hours, but I’ll see what I can do,” She calls as she leaves the room. 

You rest back against your bed, feeling the ache in your ribs radiate outwards. They’ve removed lots of the needles and wires from your body, and you’re left with only a single IV. As far as you’re aware, they are just waiting for you to be appropriately hydrated before you’re allowed to leave. They also want to make sure you can survive outside of the hospital walls psychologically.

So far, you’ve had absolutely no appetite. At first, the doctors and nurses were digging for a medical answer, but it seems that they’ve come to terms with the fact that you’re just not hungry. You never have a great appetite when you’re stressed, but this takes it to a completely different level. You’ve only been able to choke down some of the lemon sorbet they provided in an attempt to keep your blood sugar stable. 

You hear another gentle knock on your door, causing you to spring up from your relaxed position in the bed. You move far too quickly, though, and have to grit your teeth and allow the pain to wash over you. Your heart monitor skips for a couple beats, returning to normal when you can let out the breath you’re holding. 

JJ and Emily both pop their heads through the doorway, entering only when you wave them in. They both take a seat in the chairs next to your bed, giving you an expectant look. You chew at your lips while picking at your cuticles, a walking embodiment of anxiety. 

“How is he?” You whisper. You sniffle a little to help keep the tears at bay. 

“He’s having a hard time. He hates the fact that he doesn’t know how to help you,” JJ explains. Another pang of guilt pulses through your veins. 

“I feel like such an ass. It wasn’t fair of me to snap at him like that, but it just felt like he didn’t believe me,” You exclaim. 

“It’s not that he doesn’t believe you. He just has a hard time keeping a clear head sometimes. Especially when it comes to people he really cares about,” Emily says, pushing herself up from her chair to perch on the end of your bed. 

“Do you guys have any leads on Link?” You ask. They look at each other before looking back at you.

“We don’t have anything. There is no evidence that he was ever here. We’ve got police notified up and down the east coast. He won’t be able to sneeze without someone finding him,” Emily explains, rubbing your leg gently. 

“And Molly? Is she safe?” You question. Your brain was so muddled when you woke up earlier that you didn’t have time to process that she is possibly in danger too. 

“We’ve got her somewhere safe. You don’t need to worry about anything right now,” JJ coos from your bedside. 

You rub your hands over your face, trying to ground yourself. 

“Can you guys send Spencer in here, please?” You ask. You want to bury your head in the sand and never see him again after how you acted earlier, but you’ll have to face him eventually. 

Emily and JJ both nod, looking back towards you one final time before exiting your room. 

You look out your window at the scattered lights of the city. It makes you sick to think that only a few days ago you were attending your favorite event of the year, thinking you’d be back home in your own bed by the end of the week. 

You’re pulled out of your downward spiral by the sound of familiar footfalls approaching your door. You turn just in time to see Spencer’s exhausted frame lean on the doorway. 

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

“Listen, I should have said something-”

You both start talking over each other, stuttering out various apologies. You both stop speaking in unison, leaving a heavy silence between the two of you. 

He enters your room with clear hesitation, positioning himself at the end of your bed. It’s close enough to provide the illusion that he cares, but he can make a quick exit if he needs to.

“I’m sorry for what I said to you. It was mean and uncalled for. It shouldn’t have been said in front of other people, and I apologize for that,” You say slowly. He nods along with your words.

“I’m sorry for not saying something sooner. It’s a big part of my past that I still don’t like talking about. It should have come from me instead of someone else,” He apologizes back to you. You can’t really tell, but the energy he’s putting off almost feels like he doesn’t accept your apology. 

“You don’t owe me an explanation. If you’re still not ready to talk about it, then we don’t need to. It didn’t affect our relationship before, and it shouldn’t now,” You reply. You would really like to know what he’s been through so you can better understand him, but it needs to come when he’s ready. 

“I was kidnapped by an unsub on a case a while back. He got me addicted to dilaudid. Technically, I guess I’m still an addict. But I’ve been clean for years. The itch never really goes away, though,” He says, staring at the floor. He’s got a white-knuckled grip on the end of your bed. 

“Spencer,” You call to him, snapping him out of whatever self-loathing thought process he was getting himself into. “Can you please come over here?” You hold out your hand to him, much like you did earlier in the evening, begging him to come closer to you.

He complies, taking a seat next to you and causing the bed to dip. You take his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers.

“I don’t think any less of you because of it. Addiction is a disease, not something you can control. I’m incredibly proud of you for working so hard to overcome it. I’m always here if you need to come to me, okay?” You say, bringing his hand up to your mouth so you can place a kiss on the back of it. 

“What did I do to deserve you?” He asks, and you smirk against the back of his hand. 

“I think I’m more of a curse than anything. You’ve had to keep up with my streak of misfortunes over the past seven months. I’m really just karmic punishment,” You jest. He rolls his eyes at your joke, pulling your own hand towards his mouth to place a matching kiss.

You fall into a comfortable silence, and you feel like things are settling back down for the first time in a long time. 

Things almost feel okay. 

Spencer turns to you, inspecting your face closely. You’re mildly uncomfortable, but you figure that he’s just using some of his profiler mind-tricks to see how you’re really feeling. You stare back at him to try and make him equally as uncomfortable. 

It doesn’t seem to work.

“How are you really doing?” He asks simply. You don’t know what snaps inside of you, but his questions open the floodgates again. Tears immediately well up in your eyes and leave streaks down your cheeks, and you take in a couple shaky breaths. 

“I just want to go home,” You cry, leaning forward to rest your forehead on his shoulder. It pulls at your ribs, but you embrace the discomfort. 

“I know,” He replies, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. It feels like he’s not holding you as tight as he wants to for fear of breaking you. “A little birdy told me that you might be getting out of here tomorrow afternoon. And I might have convinced Hotch to let you fly home with us on the jet.”

You pull back from him a little too quickly, wincing at the pain that shoots through your right side. 

“But what about my car?” You ask. He laughs at your misplaced concern. 

“We’ve got plenty of agents that can drive your car home. There’s no way I’m letting you drive back on your own. Besides, we’ll be home in an hour if you fly with us. Then you can be back in your own bed,” He explains. You don’t love the idea of leaving your car and your belongings in the hands of somebody else, but this is the way it has to be. 

You lapse back into your quiet companionship, occasionally disrupting the silence with some sniffles. 

Far too soon for your liking, your nurse pops her head back through the doorway. She tells Spencer that it’s time for him to leave. It almost looks like she’s going to have to drag him out of the room, but he eventually relents. Once he’s secured back in the waiting room, your nurse returns with a small cup of medications. Dr. Harrison ordered a couple supplements to help you sleep, assuming that you’re unwilling or unable to do so yourself. 

He’s not far off the mark, so you take the drugs. It takes about an hour for them to kick in, but you slip back into unconsciousness soon enough.


End file.
